


Our Own Personal Demons

by Ta_Cait_Agam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Real World, Anxiety, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Caretaker Dean Winchester, Castiel is gay, Child Abuse, Classic Rock, Clinical Depression, Dean Winchester’s ambiguous sexuality, Demons, Depression, Domestic Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Overdose, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Protective Dean Winchester, Questioning Dean Winchester, References to the Beatles, Religious Fanaticism, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt, Teenage Castiel/Teenage Dean Winchester, The Impala (Supernatural), Young Sam Winchester, antidepressant withdrawal, drug overdose, psychiatric facility, religious hypocrisy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 60,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24171613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ta_Cait_Agam/pseuds/Ta_Cait_Agam
Summary: After a brutal turn of events, seventeen-year-old Dean Winchester finds himself being admitted to a psychiatric hospital where he meets sixteen-year-old Castiel Novak, a boy he feels inexplicably drawn to. The going is gonna be rough.  Like they always say, “the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 78
Kudos: 128





	1. In Sam’s Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> MAJOR TRIGGER WARNINGS for themes of attempted suicide, self-harm (specifically cutting), domestic violence, depression, anxiety, alcoholism, etc. Graphic depiction of drug OD. 
> 
> It gets better ❤️

Sammy wasn’t too surprised when his big brother was not parked in his usual spot outside the school where, on most days, Dean waited to drive him home. Maybe he had gotten into trouble, or possibly he was passed out drunk at home. It wouldn’t have been the first time for either scenario. So Sam shouldered his backpack and trudged down the sidewalk, commencing the 40-minute walk home. He could have ridden the bus, but he didn’t. In a single moment, Sam made a simple decision that would prove to be one that he would regret for years to come. In Sam’s mind, everything may have turned out differently if only he had arrived home even fifteen minutes sooner. He would drown in the sea of “if only’s,” blaming himself for not seeing it coming, but how could he have? He was just a kid. He was thirteen years old.

In his thirteen years, Sam had seen some shit. His dad was drunk most of the time, but in the past few years, it had escalated. What were once shouting matches between his dad and his seventeen-year-old brother, Dean, had become violent physical altercations. Dean always took the brunt of the violence, a human shield between his dad and his innocent younger brother. At one point, Dean’s perpetually bruised face had had staff members at the high school beginning to ask questions, but that was before Dean had dropped out, opting to hold odd jobs in the hope of keeping the lights on and a roof over their heads. On more than one occasion, Sam had watched in horror as his dad gained the upper hand in a fight, refusing to quit even as Sam screamed and begged him to stop. A couple of times, he thought their dad was going to kill Dean right in front of him. Once, Sam had called the cops, but his dad convinced them that it was a one-off domestic disturbance, that Dean had instigated the fight, but he didn’t want to press charges. The violence escalated severely after that, his dad threatening to throw Dean out if either of them involved the police in their “private family matters” again.

Sam was well aware that Dean had begun drinking as well; he had dragged Dean to bed several times, leaving aspirin and water on the nightstand by the bed for the morning. Dean had problems; they all had problems, but nothing could have prepared Sam for that particular afternoon.

The small house was eerily quiet as Sam stepped inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. His dad’s old truck was gone, but the black ’67 Impala Dean drove was in the driveway.

“Hello?” Sam called out. No reply. Dropping his backpack on the couch, Sam walked into the kitchen. It was a mess. Not the usual mess; this was a _big_ one: broken plates, broken beer bottles, and beer everywhere. What sent a wave of dread crashing over him, though, was the blood: droplets scattered across the floor and smeared in places on the wall.

“Dean?” Sam called more urgently, “Dad?” Still no reply. Sam rushed down the hall to the bedroom he shared with Dean. The room was dim, the only light filtering through the drawn blinds in places, but Sam could see Dean’s form lying on his bed in the corner.

“Dean?” Sam said, “what happened out there?” But Dean didn’t move. The only sound in the room the familiar hiss of Dean’s old record player. It had reached the end of the record. The stench of whiskey and vomit pervaded the air. A sinking feeling gripped him then, and he struggled to breathe, a vice-like pressure crushing his chest. 

“Dean!” He cried louder, rushing to his brother’s side. Still, Dean was motionless. Sam switched on the lamp by the bed, terrified of what he would see. Dean lay curled on his side, his skin gray, and his tee-shirt stained with blood and vomit. Sam called his name again, frantically shaking him, his mind going blank for a minute. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” Sam kept repeating, “wake up! Dean, please, please…” Dean remained unresponsive, his skin cool and clammy where Sam gripped him. Sam only realized he was crying when he felt the tears dripping off the end of his nose.

“Dad!” he shouted desperately then, “someone, please help!” _Help. Yes! He needed to call for help._ Finally, Sam pried himself from Dean’s side, running to the living room and rifling through his backpack for the old cell phone he was supposed to keep on him in case of an emergency. He dialed 911 with trembling fingers as he ran back to Dean’s side. Only then, as he was stating his name and address, did he notice the empty bottle of whiskey on the nightstand and an empty pill bottle on the floor. He picked up the pill bottle as he numbly answered the operator’s questions. Oxycodone. _Fuck._

 _Sam? Sam, are you there?_ The voice on the other end of the line jerked him back into reality.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam choked out. “I’m here. I uh, I think he took a bunch of Oxy with alcohol.”  
_  
Is he breathing?_

“I don’t think so,” Sam sobbed, “there’s a lot of blood everywhere too. Please hurry!”  
_  
The paramedics are on their way now, Sam, just stay on the line with me, okay? Can you see where he is bleeding from?_

“I uh, I’m not sure,” Sam answered, forcing himself to look more closely at his brother’s lifeless body. “His arms, I think.” Upon closer inspection, horizontal cuts ran up and down the insides of both of Dean’s forearms. Many of them were not fresh. Sam would never forgive himself for failing to notice them before.

It all became a nauseating blur: the operator telling him he needed to begin CPR, struggling to haul Dean’s dead weight to the floor, the operator giving him instructions over speakerphone, telling him he was doing an excellent job as he sobbed, his tears wetting the front of Dean’s shirt as he struggled to do chest compressions, sure he wasn’t doing it right, sure that Dean was going to die because he wasn’t doing it right. Then the medics were there, and Sam stood back, watching in a daze as they took over, huddled around Dean’s body. Sam felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and was met by the kind brown eyes of a young woman with a badge that read “trainee.”

“You did a great job helping your brother,” she said softly, “you did everything just right.” And Sam fell apart then, collapsing into her arms.

 _“He’s all I have,”_ he murmured again and again to the young woman, Tessa, who continued to reassure him that he had done everything he could have done.

Suddenly, Dean was alive again, coughing and choking, his limbs thrashing, struggling against the medics who were attempting to hold him still enough to start an IV and keep an oxygen mask on his face.

“Dean!” Sam cried, turning quickly, but Tessa held him back. “What’s happening to him?” he asked, helpless and terrified by his brother’s shouts and moans.

“It’s okay,” she assured him, “they gave him a medication that reversed the effects of the pills he took. Most people don’t feel very good when the medicine wakes them up; this is a pretty normal response. I know it’s scary seeing someone you care about in this situation, though.” Sam nodded solemnly.  
_  
“Is he going to be okay?”_ he whispered. Tessa looked down at him with a sad smile.

“They’re going to take good care of him,” was all she could promise. The next time Sam turned to look at her, she was gone.


	2. Happiness is a Warm Gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SAME TRIGGER WARNINGS AS LAST CHAPTER

Dean remembers flashes of the day. Like single slides in a projector, his memories switch from one to another without anything in between. He remembers the fight. John, his father, drunk off his ass, as usual, using him again as a punching bag literally and figuratively. He remembers losing it, unable to take any more, grabbing anything within reach, throwing it, smashing plates, smashing bottles, screaming at his dad to just leave him the fuck alone. Dean remembers his dad storming out. He remembers picking up a piece of broken glass. He squeezed it until blood dripped to the floor, the pain taking his mind off of the hellish reality in which he lived. He remembers rummaging through the medicine cabinet and finding an old prescription bottle. He remembers thinking about it but deciding not to. He doesn’t remember why he took the bottle with him anyway.

Dean remembers walking across the hallway to his bedroom. He had wanted to throw more things, smash the place up, but instead, he collapsed onto his bed, flipping on his old record player, dropping the needle onto whatever record was on the turntable, and rolling up the sleeve of his ratty flannel button-down. The Doors emerged from the speakers. Dean snorted; he is a goddamn cliché.  
 _  
This is The End… my only friend, The End.  
_  
He remembers pressing the piece of broken glass to a place on his forearm between two old cuts, drawing it across his skin, feeling the sweet sting, the burning pain that had become a kind of fucked up comfort to him. He remembers the blood running down his arm. He remembers starting another cut, and another, and reaching under his bed for the bottle of whiskey he had stashed there. He doesn’t remember a lot after that.

Dean thinks he can remember Sammy screaming his name. He thinks he can remember the look of terror on his 13-year-old face, but he thinks neither of those memories could be real; he was pretty much dead when that happened. He thinks maybe he can remember part of the ambulance ride, struggling against hands that held him down. He screamed his throat raw. He thinks he can remember a glimpse of Sammy sitting with a young woman. She had dark hair and her arm around Sam as he cried. She looks familiar for some reason. He’s sure he’s met her somewhere before.

* * *

Now he’s lying in a hospital bed in a dimly lit room, a quiet, constant beep registering every beat of his heart. His head hurts. _Everything_ hurts. His forearms are wrapped in bandages, and he has an IV placed in the crook of his arm. He feels all drugged up, sluggish, like he can’t will his body to move. His eyes roam the room, but he struggles to process what he is seeing, so he lets them fall closed again. Then he hears the soft click of the door opening and some hesitant footsteps.

“Dean?” he hears a broken voice ask.

“Sammy?” he manages to murmur, his throat raw, tongue thick and clumsy in his mouth. Dean opens his eyes and finds Sammy standing at his side, his eyes red and watery, swollen from endless weeping. “Sam…” Dean starts and trails off, his heart hurting, the pain in his chest unbearable as he looks at his little brother and truly realizes what he has done. 

“Sammy…” his voice is a hoarse whisper, and tears well in his eyes against his will.

“I thought you were going to die,” Sammy chokes, breaking into tears again at his brother’s side.

“Sammy, I’m so sorry,” Dean whispers. “S’ gonna be okay,” he tries to reassure him, reaching for Sam’s hand. Instead of taking his hand, Sam crawls over the bed rail, all gangly knees and elbows and too-long legs, the awkward body of a thirteen-year-old. He curls up against Dean’s side, an arm flung over his chest. Dean groans in pain and surprise but puts his arms gently around his trembling little brother.  
 _  
“I’m so sorry, Sammy, so, so sorry.”_ And Dean is crying too, hot tears burning trails down his cheeks as he holds on to his sobbing brother.  
He hates himself for what he has done, for almost everything he has ever done. His only success in life has been protecting Sam, and now he’s fucked that all to hell too.

“Why, Dean? _Why did you do it?_ ” Sam cries against Dean’s chest.

“Wasn’t thinking straight,” Dean murmurs, “was a mistake.” The words feel all too little, too late, but anything more substantial eludes him.

“Please…” Sam begins to say but stops.

“Sammy, say what you want. S’ okay. Won’t be mad.”

“I know dad hurts you, and when I tried to help, I just made it worse, and I’m really sorry I can’t help, but please…”

Dean takes a long, shuddering breath. Sam blames himself. _Of course,_ he does.

“Wasn’t your fault Sammy; nothin’s your fault. Can’t blame yourself for Dad, ’kay?” Dean runs his fingers through Sam’s shaggy hair, and Sam’s sobbing eases. Dean feels him nod against his chest. Holding on to Sam now, Dean is grateful that something decided it wasn’t his time yet.

“Please don’t try again, Dean,” Sam whimpers, “I was so scared. I need you.”

“I promise,” Dean murmurs in reply to his brother’s heartbreaking plea, “promise I’ll be here with you.”

“Cross your heart?” Sam asks, his watery eyes locking on Dean’s.

“Cross my heart,” Dean affirms with an attempted smile. “Y’know I’d do anything for my baby brother.”

“M’ not a baby,” Sam mumbles into Dean’s chest.

“I know,” Dean replies, “just teasin’. Really, Sammy, you’re so brave and smart. Smarter than me. Way smarter than Dad.” Sam shakes his head. “Yeah, you are. Sammy, you saved me. I’m still here ’cause of you,” Dean says quietly, tears falling once more. Dean tightens his grip on Sam, and they are both quiet for a while.

“Dean?” Sam whispers eventually.

“Hmm?”

“Are you awake?”

“Obviously.” Dean snorts a laugh. “What is it, Sammy?”

“Why are there cuts all over your arms?” Dean’s stomach feels like it has suddenly turned to ice. He is paralyzed for a moment. Of course, Sam had seen. Dean had always been careful to hide them from Sam, but now Sam knows, and Dean has no idea what to say.

“I dunno, Sam. Don’t worry about it, ’kay?”

“Did dad do it?” Sam isn’t going to drop this.

“No,” Dean replies honestly, though a part of him wants to lie. He feels deeply ashamed, partially because he believes that he _should_ be ashamed, and partially because society thinks he should be ashamed. Why? He’s not sure. _My body, my choice, right?_ Either way, he thinks about how it would feel if he found Sam doing it; he would hate himself with an even stronger passion.

“I don’t understand,” Sam says quietly. “Did you do it to yourself?” Again, Dean can’t stop the goddamn tears that are rolling down his goddamn face.

“Yeah,” Dean breathes, hoping Sam will move on but knowing he won’t.

“Why? Why are you hurting yourself?” Sammy’s hazel puppy-dog eyes are awash with worry and confusion.

“I don’t know what to say; can we please talk about this later? My head hurts, and I want to sleep,” Dean says hoarsely. He owes Sam an answer; he knows he does, but his brain is shutting down, and he just can’t do it now.

“Fine,” Sam grumbles, but quickly asks, “can I stay here like this if I’m quiet?”

“‘Course you can,” Dean says, relaxing. He lets his eyes close again and concentrates on the warmth Sam radiates at his side.

“Don’t want you to leave,” Sam whispers.

“Not goin’ anywhere,” Dean promises. “Glad you’re with me, Sammy.”

“Me too.”

Eventually, they both fall asleep.


	3. Help!

The morning comes like a wrecking ball as Dean’s eyes flutter open. He takes a moment to realize where he is; as soon as he does, it’s like a nightmare he wishes he could wake up from. Sam is his only comfort, curled up, asleep at his side. That won’t last long, though. A nurse enters the room, followed by a social worker, and Dean shakes Sam gently awake. The nurse explains that she is going to take Dean’s vitals and change his bandages and that the social worker needs to speak with Sam in private. Sam turns to Dean with worried eyes.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean says groggily.

“I don’t wanna go now. Don’t wanna leave you,” Sam protests.

“I’m okay; I’ll still be here when you’re done,” Dean assures him. Sam huffs and crawls off the bed, following the social worker out of the room.

* * *

The social worker is nice enough, Sam figures, but she asks him question after question, none of which he knows how to answer. He lies a lot, terrified, fearing his father will retaliate, take it all out on Dean if he tells the truth about their life at home. Furthermore, as much as he fears his dad, he fears being put into the foster care system more, as he would likely be separated from Dean.

* * *

The nurse is gentle as she unwraps Dean’s arms, inspecting the wounds for any signs of infection. He avoids her eyes as she works; he doesn’t want to see the pity he knows is harbored there. The fresh cuts are red, and Dean notices that a few of them have been stitched closed, but before he can get a good look, they are being rebandaged.

“Looks good,” the nurse says kindly, “they’ll heal well.” Dean doesn’t reply. He just feels numb.

A minute after she leaves the room, Dean hears the door open again, followed by heavy footfall. He smells cigarettes and stale beer, and a mix of terror and fury steals his breath away. He wants to jump from the bed, tear out his IV, and just run for it, but he can’t.

John Winchester stares down at him with cold, pitiless eyes, devoid of any emotion.

“Sounds like they’re gonna keep you here for a while,” John says roughly. Dean stares blankly ahead, eyes unfocused. “Whatdya got to say for yourself?” Dean’s fingers tighten, clenching the hospital blanket in his fists.

“Answer me when I talk to you, boy,” John growls, rage brewing just beneath the surface.

“What do you want me to say?” Dean croaks, utterly broken, “what do you want from me?”

“You’re a goddamn disappointment, y’know that?” John spits. Dean snorts a hollow laugh.

“Must be fuckin’ genetic,” Dean replies, unbridled hatred in his somber, green eyes.

“Don’t you fuckin’ put this on me,” John nearly yells, and then quiets himself. “This is all you, Dean. _You_ did this, and I’m not footin’ the bill either. I’ll sell that damn car of yours before I spend another dime on you.”

“Where’s Sammy?” Dean asks through gritted teeth, refusing to respond to John’s statement.

“Don’t matter. Takin’ him home. He needs a break from you.” And Dean realizes John is going to take Sam without letting him say goodbye.

“If you lay a finger on him, I will fuckin’ kill you,” Dean says, his voice fighting past the lump in his throat.

“Homicidal tendencies, I’ll be sure to add that to the list of shit they need to fix before they let you out of here,” John sneers. “Maybe you can tell them the whole ‘demon thing’ while you’re at it.” Before Dean can say anything, John turns on his heel and storms out of the room. Dean thinks he can hear Sam protesting in the hallway, but all goes quiet after another moment, and Dean is left entirely alone.

* * *

Dean cries himself to sleep eventually, wondering what his dad meant when he said, “they’ll be keeping you here for a while.”

His nurse brings him lunch sometime later, but he isn’t hungry.

“When do I get to go home?” he asks, ignoring the plate in front of him.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure,” the nurse answers.

“Well, is there something wrong with me? Did I wreck my liver or something?” Dean asks impatiently.

“No, Dean, you vomited up most of the pills before they could do permanent damage,” she says simply.

“So I’m gonna be okay?” Dean asks almost hopefully.

“Medically? Yeah, you’re going to be alright,” she answers.

“So what am I waiting here for?”

“Hold on a moment, and I’ll see if I can find someone who can better answer your questions,” she offers, turning and exiting before Dean can ask anything else. He turns and punches his pillow out of frustration, but even that movement makes him groan. He feels like he’s been hit by the proverbial bus.

“Good afternoon, Dean.” Dean turns and finds a striking woman with dark skin and curly black hair looking at him with a smile. She is wearing a black dress that falls to her knees, and Dean can hear her heels clicking on the tile floor. “I am Dr. Calloway, but you can call my Billie if you’d like.” Dean nods. “How are you feeling?”

“Uh, fine, I guess. Little sore, but I’m fine. When do I get to go home?” Dean shrugs off the real question, what she was really asking, trying to act casual, like he hadn’t attempted to end his life the day before.

“Well, that depends on you, Dean,” Billie says calmly to him.

“Okay, well, I’m ready to go then, Doc,” Dean says pleasantly, flashing one of his most winning smiles, trying to seem confident and charming even lying in a hospital bed.

“That isn’t exactly what I meant,” she says, taking a seat in the chair facing Dean’s bed.

“Well then what?” Dean replies, deflated.

“Dean, I am a psychiatrist. I specialize in adolescent and teenage mental health, and I am on staff here in the psychiatric unit. It has been recommended that you be admitted for just long enough to get your feet back on the ground.” At hearing this, the blood drains from Dean’s face, and his hands shake. He pictures restraints and padded cells, and it all scares the shit out of him.

“What?” he sputters, “you’re a shrink, and I’m being thrown in the loony bin?” He spits angrily. “That bastard set this up, didn’t he? My dad...he… well, I’m not fuckin’ crazy! I just want to get the fuck out of here!” Hearing the shouting, several nurses rush to the door, but Billie waves them off, unfazed.

“Dean, nobody said you are crazy,” she replies placidly, “there are many different reasons people are admitted to mental health facilities. It’s not a permanent thing, and it doesn’t mean you’re crazy or that there is something wrong with who you are as a person. We all need help sometimes.” Dean can feel his eyes burning and desperately wants to stop the tears before they fall again.

“Well, no offense, but I don’t think anyone here’s gonna be able to help me,” Dean says bitterly, glaring down at his hands as he fidgets with the pulse oximeter taped to his finger.

“Why do you say that?” Billie asks, her voice steady and even, no hint of frustration or anger, and it throws Dean a little; he is only used to confrontation.

“I dunno, just don’t think so. Don’t think talkin’ about my feelings or whatever is gonna do me any good. It’s not gonna protect Sam, and it sure as hell ain’t gonna bring mom back.”

“Who is Sam?” she asks pleasantly.

“My little brother.”

“Are you concerned about his safety?” she asks, and Dean regrets having said anything.

“Dunno,” he mutters.

“How is your home life, Dean?” Billie asks, and Dean realizes she isn’t looking at him with the pity that the other people have, the pity that makes him sick to his stomach. Regardless, he doesn’t want to say something that would prompt any investigation by Child Protective Services. He fears losing Sam to the system as much as Sam does, maybe more.

“Don’t really wanna talk about it, okay?”

“Okay,” she says simply. Dean is surprised; he wants to hate her, but he doesn’t for some reason. “Could you just tell me a little about Sam? What’s he like? Are you close?” Yeah, Dean can do that if it’ll lead to a quicker end to the conversation.

“He’s thirteen. He’s kinda goofy but also real smart. He’ll probably be a doctor or a lawyer or something when he grows up,” Dean says with just a hint of a smile.

“Sounds like you really care about him,” she notes.

“‘Course I do,” Dean says quietly. _“Fuck!”_ Dean murmurs, losing himself again, “can’t believe I did this to him…”

“What do you mean?” Dean doesn’t want to answer, but the truth pours out anyway.

“He’s the one that found me. He saved me, and now he’s gonna be all fucked up by the whole thing,” he cries, wiping furiously at his eyes. “You’re a shrink; you think there’s any chance he’ll be okay?”

“Yes, I do,” she says kindly, “but the best thing you can do for him right now is to take care of yourself. I think you’ll find that talking about these things will help you work your way through it all. For his sake, and your own, try to be open to the idea of accepting help.” With this, Billie stands. “I’ll see you again soon, Dean, but I’ll let you get some rest now unless you have any questions for me.” Dean shakes his head. “Well, it was nice to meet you,” she says with a smile and turns to leave.

“Thanks,” Dean murmurs.


	4. I’ve Just Seen a Face

Sometime in the late afternoon, a nurse announces that he is being discharged from the hospital and will be transferred to the psychiatric unit. Dean is suddenly nauseated, having to gulp back the bile in the back of his throat. This is it. A sense of impending doom settles over him. Suddenly, movement in the corner catches his eye, and he jumps, startled. A man is standing there, silent but grinning, his eyes an unnatural yellow, glowing. The man sneers at him, and Dean fights to breathe. 

“Are you alright?” the nurse asks him, startling him once more. She glances toward the corner Dean had been fixated on before turning back to him. He looks again, and the man is gone. Dean can breathe, though his hands are trembling. 

“Uh, yeah,” Dean mutters, lying. “Never been better.” 

“Will this be your first visit to the psychiatric unit?” the nurse asks casually as she takes his vitals and removes his IV. 

“Yeah,” Dean says. 

“It’s alright if you’re nervous, but the staff over there are great. They could really help you.”

“Never said I needed help,” Dean says coldly, “no one ever _asked_ me if I needed help, but I guess this is easier for my dad than having to look at me at home.” Dean raises his voice more than he means to, and the nurse seems a little uneasy. She quickly finishes up and excuses herself from the room, leaving him alone to change out of his hospital gown and into a pair of the dark green scrubs worn by psychiatric inpatients. He isn’t used to wearing short sleeves; he would usually wear a long-sleeved flannel over his tee-shirt, effectively hiding the collection of scars he has accumulated over the years. Now, the worst of them are covered by the bandages, but there are visible scars on the insides of his biceps, which make him uncomfortable. He has some tattoos that are visible now, too: different occult wards and sigils that most people assume are related to “devil worship.” Those assumptions couldn’t be farther from the truth. 

Soon after he has changed, an orderly stops by the room with a wheelchair to take him over to the unit. 

“Seriously!?” Dean asks, incredulous. 

“Sorry, man, hospital policy,” the orderly explains. 

“Whatever,” Dean huffs and flops down in the chair, his arms folded across his chest like a petulant child. “Seriously!?” Dean huffs again when he realizes he is also being accompanied by a member of the hospital security staff. “I’m not gonna attack anyone,” Dean says, rolling his eyes. 

“I’m sure you’re not,” the security officer says, not unkindly, “too many kids try makin’ a run for it, though.”

“Don’t blame ‘em,” Dean replies with a cold laugh. 

“I don’t either, really,” the officer says. “I get it; I’ve been there. Had a rough time growin’ up as well.” Dean doesn’t say anything, but the officer’s words _do_ sink in a little, relieving a small part of his humiliation and fear. 

At the unit, he is taken through two sets of locking doors and is patted down by the officer, who is apologetic, explaining that it’s policy. Dean expects he is going to tire of “policy” pretty damn quickly. Once they are satisfied that he isn’t carrying anything illicit on his person, he is led into a hallway lined with doors to the patients’ rooms. Most of the doors are left open, and Dean can see other kids lounging around on their beds or sitting at desks. Most of the kids seem younger than he is, and only a few bother to glance up at him as they pass. The place isn’t the dreary hell-hole he had pictured, filled with psychotic screaming kids; in contrast, it seems pretty cheery. The walls are painted light blues and greens, and most of the staff he can see smile at him as he passes. Most importantly to Dean: he gets his own room. He hadn’t been sure, but he was afraid he was going to be stuck in a cell with some crazy kid. 

After a quick tour of the place, he is shown to his room. _Dean W._ is scrawled on a dry-erase board on the door. A single bed, a desk built into the wall, and a weird chair Dean assumes was designed precisely so he couldn’t find a way to kill himself with it occupy the room. There is a decent-sized window above the desk. It doesn’t open, for obvious reasons, but there aren’t bars on it or anything, Dean reflects as he looks out. They’re on the second floor, and Dean’s view consists mostly of the leaves and branches of an old oak tree; it’s actually kind of nice, though that doesn’t make him want to stay here any more than he did before. 

“Alright, I think that’s about it,” the nurse says to him as she concludes the tour, “have any questions, sugar?” Dean arches his eyebrows, a crooked grin on his face at the term of endearment. “Don’t you look at me like that, young man,” she jokes, feigning a threatening tone.

“No, ma’am,” Dean replies, “no questions at the moment.”

“And don’t ‘ma’am’ me!” she teases again, “you can call me Missouri.” Dean nods. “I’ll be checking in on you pretty often as you settle in. We’ll let you know when dinner is, but you’re free till then to take it easy. Gotta keep your door open for now, till you’re settled, sorry.”

“ _Policy,_ right?” Dean says dryly. 

“You got it,” she confirms. “If you have any questions, I’ll be right over there.” She points down the hall to the nurses’ station, and Dean nods. He stands in his doorway, watching her walk away, thinking maybe he kind of likes her attitude. He glances across the hallway. The door opposite his own is closed, the name _Castiel N._ printed on it. _Weird fuckin’ name,_ Dean thinks before retreating into his room and flopping down on the bed. He spends the next hour or two motionless on the bed, staring at a blank spot on the wall, in shock over his current situation.

* * *

“Dinner time, sugar,” Missouri calls, knocking on his door frame. Dean groans and rolls over to face her. “Come on, Dean, I’ll show you the ropes.” He’s not hungry, but he pushes himself up with a sigh and follows her down the hallway. He is led to a common room filled with tables and chairs and sees the other kids lining up to receive their trays. “When you’re done, return your tray and silverware, we count them by the way, and you can return to your room. Oh, and tonight is movie night, but don’t get too excited; it’s the younger kids’ turn to choose, and they always pick that one with the minions. Don’t worry, you don’t have to watch it.” 

Dean glances around at the other patients as he waits for his tray; a few are staring openly at him, likely taking in the tattoos and bandages. It also doesn’t help matters that he is the tallest person in the room, being one of the oldest patients. He receives his tray and finds a spot in the corner, sinking into a chair to stare numbly at the food in front of him. It doesn’t look too bad, but he has no appetite. He takes a couple bites and spends the rest of the meal time pushing food around with his plastic spoon. 

No one sits next to him or tries to speak to him, which he really doesn’t mind; he isn’t feeling particularly chatty. He hears a giggle and turns toward it, catching two younger girls quickly looking away from him. Lowering their voices, they huddle together, clearly talking about him. He rolls his eyes and returns to staring at his plate. 

In front of him, a little distance away, he sees another boy sitting by himself. He seems to be around Dean’s age though relatively thin with unruly dark hair that he keeps running his fingers through as he concentrates on a notebook in front of him. He chews the end of his pencil every so often, rubbing the paper with his finger. It looks like he is sketching something, his fingertips dark with graphite. Dean realizes that _he_ is the one staring now when the boy glances up, making eye contact with him. Dean immediately looks back down at his plate, but not before noting how strikingly blue those eyes were. 

The next time Dean looks up, those blue eyes are _still_ fixed on him. Dean doesn’t know why he does it, boredom maybe, as a diversion, but he grins and winks at the kid, who promptly turns bright red, dropping his pencil and subsequently scrambling under the table to retrieve it. Dean smirks to himself. He feels a little guilty, flustering the kid like that, but it was amusing nonetheless. 

Pencil retrieved, the boy quickly gathers his things and makes a hasty exit. Dean sighs, wondering if he’d just done something stupid… again. He looks after the boy as he disappears out the door, wondering to himself what could be wrong with the kid? Why was he here? Dean spots the two girls glancing at him again and runs his tongue over his lip, subtle but suggestive. They both dissolve into giggles again, and he stands, returns his tray and silverware, and walks dejectedly back to his room. 

Missouri drops by once more before the end of her shift, telling him where he can brush his teeth before wishing him a good night and saying she’ll see him tomorrow. 

“Uh, Missouri?” Dean speaks up, just as she’s turning to leave.

“What is it, sugar?”

“Am I, uh, allowed to make a phone call?” Dean asks, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Who would you like to call?”

“My little brother. Wanna let him know I’m okay,” Dean says softly. 

“Sure,” she smiles empathetically, “come with me.” He follows her to the nurses’ station, where she dials the number for him and hands him the corded phone. He has to stand at the counter to talk on the phone, but he is grateful he’s allowed to call at all. The call goes to Sam’s voicemail. Dean figured it would, but he hopes Sam will get the message next time he charges the emergency phone. Sam has always been pretty good about keeping it charged. 

“Uh, hey, Sammy,” Dean says quietly, trying not to let his voice crack, “it’s me. Just wanted to let you know I’m alright. You can try calling me back here tomorrow. Try not to worry too much, okay? See you soon.” He hands the phone back to a Missouri, who hangs it up gently. “Thanks,” he murmurs. 

“Sounds like you’re a pretty good brother,” she says warmly. 

“Wouldn’t be here if I was that good,” Dean responds darkly. 

“We’ve all made mistakes, Dean,” Missouri replies before wishing him a good night for a final time and heading for the door. 

Returning to his room, Dean spots the boy from dinner in front of the door across from his own. The boy glances up, recognizes him, and freezes with his hand on the door, his face reddening again. Dean nods at him. So this is _Castiel._

“Not watching the movie either?” Dean asks casually, trying to ease the kid’s obvious discomfort, the discomfort Dean feels responsible for. 

“Uh, no,” the boy murmurs, his voice low, “once was enough.” Dean huffs a little laugh and grins. He can see the boy relax a little. 

“I bet,” Dean agrees, and the boy looks up again, meeting his eyes. There is a peculiar depth to the boy’s shy gaze that catches Dean off guard. He clears his throat softly and says, “well, good night.”

“Good night,” Castiel returns quietly, and Dean watches as he quickly enters his room, shutting the door behind him. He must have earned that privilege, Dean reflects, having a closed door, and he wonders how long Castiel has been here. 

Dean turns and steps into his own room, flipping the light off and collapsing onto the bed. His arm is beginning to itch unbearably at the suture sights, and Dean really wants to scratch them raw. The only thing that stops him is the knowledge that tearing his arm open would likely prolong his stay here indefinitely, so he groans and rolls over in bed. 

He hears a siren outside and glances up at his window, and his blood runs cold. 

“What are you doing here? What do you want from me!?” Dean whispers harshly, scrambling backward out of bed, flattening himself against the wall. The light from a street lamp backlights the silhouette of a man resting lazily against the desk by the window. The man remains silent, his snarled grin illuminated by the subtle glow of his eyes. Dean watches as the man pushes himself to standing from the edge of the desk. 

“I’ll always know where you are,” the man says, his voice quiet like the hiss of a snake, seeming to come from Dean’s own head. Slowly the man walks past Dean to the door and out into the hallway. After a moment, Dean dares to walk to the doorframe, but when he looks down the hallway, there is nobody there.


	5. Behind Blue Eyes

Castiel closes the door quickly, leaning his back against it and taking a deep breath. He feels rattled. Running a hand over his hair, trying to calm it down as has become a habit of his, he begins pacing in the small amount of space he has to do so in. That guy… Castiel can’t get him out of his head. Ever since that moment at dinner, he has been in a tailspin. Castiel would like to believe in “love at first sight,” but he’s pretty sure that that needs to be mutual, and this is most likely not that at all. The wink? The cocky grin? What did it _mean?_ Probably just fucking with him; kids are _always_ fucking with him. Anyway, it isn’t love, Castiel berates himself, it’s lust at best. “Lust at first sight?” Yeah, that’s definitely a thing. 

Either way, the guy is probably a cocky jerk. That, or he’s crazy. I mean, he’s here, right? But Castiel isn’t crazy, so… no; that guy, he must be fucked up somehow, completely gorgeous, and all fucked up. This _cannot_ end well. That guy has got to be nothing but trouble. Either, he _is_ a psycho or he's an asshole, OR they get along well and Castiel ends up in the “friend zone.” All paths lead to a broken heart. Dude probably isn’t even gay. All that aside, meeting some guy is pretty much the opposite outcome Castiel’s parents sent him here to achieve in the first place. 

Castiel finally gives up, flipping off the light, groaning, and letting himself fall backwards onto his bed. He gropes around blindly for his iPod, one of the few diversions he has here. He was allowed to have it after the staff agreed he wasn’t a danger to himself. It was old, lacking the ability to connect to the internet or anything, but Missouri let him connect to her computer every so often to load music onto it. Castiel hits “shuffle” and curls up under his blanket, hoping he’ll be able to fall asleep soon. The Beatles sing to him through his earbuds.

_Oh please, say to me  
You'll let me be your man  
And please, say to me  
You'll let me hold your hand_

_Now let me hold your hand  
I want to hold your hand_

Too fucking fitting, but it’s one of his favorites, and he can’t skip it. when he sleeps, he has the same dreams he always has, dreams where he’s happy, dreams in which he’s not alone. Only this time, the guy who has his arm around him has the same goddamn green eyes and freckles as the guy across the hall.

* * *

In the morning, Castiel splashes cool water on his face, rubbing his eyes, trying to forget about the particularly pleasant dream he’d been having just before he woke up. He desperately tries to push that guy from his mind, but finds himself attempting extra hard to get his hair to look decent anyway. 

“Goddamnit, Castiel,” he says as he’s walking back to his room. He doesn’t realize he is actually saying it out loud. “Get yourself together.”

“Talking to yourself, huh? That’s never good!” a familiar voice says behind him. 

“Oh, Meg!” Castiel says, surprised, spinning around to face her. “You’re back from ‘time out.’ What did you do this time? Missouri wouldn’t tell me.”

“Apparently you aren’t supposed to have your bare foot on some dude’s crotch under the table during craft time,” she says gleefully, flipping her curly hair over her shoulder. “I still don’t know who narced, but if I find out…”

“Yeah, yeah, _snitches get stitches_ , I know,” Castiel replies, rolling his eyes. Just then, That Guy emerges from his room, looking like he’s had a rough night, though the dark circles under his eyes do nothing to detract from his appeal to Castiel. 

“Oh! _Hello, handsome!_ ” Meg says under her breath, openly staring as the guy passes by.

“Meg, don’t!” Castiel says threateningly through gritted teeth.

“What? A girl can look,” she says defensively. 

“Just leave him alone.”

“Aw, Clarence, you’re no fun,” she mock-pouts, and then her eyes go wide. “Ohhhh, you want him for yourself,” she says in a low voice, and Castiel’s cheeks blaze red. “Oh, you _do_ ! That’s adorable!”

“Shut up,” is the snappiest comeback Castiel can muster and he turns on his heel and retreats into his room. Meg follows him, leaning casually against his door frame as Castiel sits on the edge of his bed. 

“I don’t blame you,” she says conciliatorily, “he’s frickin’ hot. Have you talked to him?” Castiel sighs. She’s not going to drop this, apparently. 

“No, not really.”

“So you don’t know what his deal is?”

“No. I don’t even know what his name is.”

“It’s _Dean,_ ” she replies. 

“What? How do you know that?”

“I’m psychic,” Meg deadpans, and Castiel scowls at her. “I read it on his door, genius.”

“Oh.”

“Well, you better make your move quick, Cassie; I won’t be able to control myself for long…” Meg grins at him. 

_“Don’t call me ‘Cassie,’”_ Castiel growls. 

“Aww, did my angel wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning? You know, you’re cute when you’re pissy… so like, all the time,” she winks.

“Meg, leave that poor boy alone,” Missouri’s voice comes from down the hall. “You run along to your session now,” she adds. “How are you doing, dear?” she asks Castiel as she pauses at his door. 

“I’m okay,” Castiel replies tiredly. 

“Well, that doesn’t sound wholly convincing,” she says warmly, “you sure you’re doing alright?”

“I’m just tired.”

“Okay,” she says, not sounding convinced, “better go get something to eat.” Castiel nods, grabbing his iPod and sketchbook before heading to breakfast.

* * *

At breakfast, Castiel takes the same seat he always does, and Dean, it appears, has chosen the same spot as the day before as well. It would be so easy to get up and go talk to him, that is, if it weren’t for the fact that Castiel is painfully shy, and that feeling is only compounded by how incredibly attractive he finds Dean. So Castiel eats robotically, doing his best not to stare, trying to focus on the drawing in front of him, but he really can’t concentrate. Once, he glances up and Dean’s pretty eyes are fixed on him. Cas averts his gaze quickly, but he can feel his cheeks burning, cursing himself for how obvious he must be. 

Dean looks exhausted, and Castiel wonders again why Dean is here. He finds himself staring at the bandages on Dean’s arms. It seems like maybe Dean notices, because he abruptly stands, returns his tray, and exits, leaving Castiel feeling like shit. He really hopes it was a coincidence, but he fears that it isn’t.

* * *

After breakfast, Castiel has his group therapy meeting. He enters and takes his usual seat in the circle. Garth, the group counselor, greets the circle of teens with his usual sunny optimism, which Castiel usually finds grating so soon after waking up. Just as they are starting, there is a knock on the door, which subsequently opens, revealing Missouri’s apologetic face. 

“Good morning, Garth,” she says, “so sorry to interrupt, but I have a new member for you.”

“Excellent!” Garth replies with a wide grin, “welcome!” Castiel freezes as Dean trudges into the room, looking like he’d rather be a million miles away. He takes an empty seat across from Castiel, slumping into the chair and staring at his hands, appearing to be painfully uncomfortable in his own skin. 

“Let’s all introduce ourselves to the newbie,” Garth announces, “say your name and how about your favorite music group or movie, you decide.” This is really gonna suck, Castiel decides as a perky blonde girl enthusiastically volunteers to begin. 

“Hi, I’m Becky! I don’t think I can decide, but I’d say it’s definitely a tie between One Direction and BTS; oh my gosh, I love K-pop! But I dunno, I also love Ariana Grande, and of _course_ there’s Lady Gaga! And…”

“Thank you, Becky! Your enthusiasm is much appreciated, as always,” Garth gently cuts her off. “Next?”

“I’m Anna,” says the painfully thin girl next to Becky. “My favorite movie is Garden State.” And so on. Castiel squirms as it’s almost his turn. The butterflies in his stomach feel more like Africanized bees at the moment. And then it’s his turn. 

“I’m Castiel,” he mumbles, looking at the floor in front of him, “and I like The Beatles.” When he glances up, Dean is staring right at him. It’s the first time Dean has looked up from his hands since he sat down. 

“Ah yes, the ‘British Invasion!’” Garth comments, “It’s been a hard day’s night, am I right?” he jokes lamely. Castiel is probably the only one to understand the reference, but he’s too preoccupied to respond. Finally, it’s Dean’s turn.

“Dean,” is all he says, once again staring at his hands. Becky and Anna are exchanging knowing looks, pretty much gossiping with their eyes, and Castiel feels a ridiculous stab of jealousy when Dean simply glances in their direction. 

“Welcome, Dean,” Garth says, “and who do you like to listen to?”

“Zeppelin.” Dean clearly doesn’t plan to participate in any conversation, but Garth moves on cheerfully, beginning the day's session. Castiel wishes Dean would speak up, dying to know more, but he doesn’t really blame him, as Castiel can barely bring himself to participate today either, not with Dean sitting right there. 

“Castiel?” The voice seemed to be coming from a distance, “Castiel? Ground control to Castiel!” Garth teases good-naturedly, and suddenly, Castiel is aware that everyone is staring at him, and he wonders how long Garth has been attempting to get his attention. 

“Oh, uh s-sorry, what?” he stammers. 

“Do you have anything that you would like to contribute to the discussion?” Garth asks. 

“No...sorry, not that I can think of,” Castiel says softly, glancing around the room. His breath catches in his chest when his eyes fall on Dean. Dean is looking right at him, an amused sort of grin on his face. Castiel’s instincts tell him he’s being laughed at, but when he looks harder into those green eyes, he doesn’t really think it’s that at all. 

Castiel is useless for the rest of the session, stealing glances at Dean every so often. More often than not, Dean is looking back at him which always makes his face burn hot. This only seems to encourage Dean. If Dean is trying to mess with him, Castiel thinks, it’s working, and he’s a real dick, but Castiel hopes that that isn’t the case. He hopes it so bad his chest hurts.

* * *

At lunch, Castiel sits in his usual spot. He tells himself he’s going to do it; he’s going to say ‘hello’ to Dean, if Dean sits in _his_ usual spot. Or maybe ‘hi.’ Or ‘hey.’ Yeah, ‘hey’ sounds nice and casual. His heart is racing, and his palms are sweaty, and in a minute, he can already tell he’s probably gonna lose the nerve and just sit there silently after all. 

He suddenly has no appetite and pushes his food off to the side, pulling out his sketch pad, hoping his hands aren’t shaking too badly to hold a pencil. 

“You drew that?” an awed voice says from above Castiel’s right shoulder. 

“Uh, yeah,” Cas answers, turning toward the voice. It’s Dean, and he looks so sincere that Castiel feels suddenly like he has forgotten how to breathe. 

“That’s awesome, man,” Dean says next. 

“Th-thanks,” Castiel manages. 

“This seat taken?” Dean asks casually. Castiel can’t believe this is happening. 

“No, nope, totally free,” he answers all too enthusiastically, shoving his own tray further out of the way. 

“Cool,” Dean says, sitting across from him. “So, who is it?” Dean asks of the drawing, a portrait of a young man. 

“It’s, uh, it’s Paul McCartney,” Castiel replies, his cheeks turning pink yet _again._

“Well, I don’t really know what he looks like, but I’m sure it’s just like that,” Dean says with his mouth full, a habit that usually irritates Castiel, reminding him of his brother Gabe, but on Dean he thinks it’s rather endearing. 

“Well, thanks,” Castiel says, “I’m not usually satisfied with my drawings, but I think this one is turning out alright.”

“Alright!?” Dean says incredulously, “dude, it looks like a fuckin’ photograph. Seriously, man. Wish I had some kind of talent.” Castiel can feel his face practically burning up, he’s blushing so hard. It’s embarrassing, but he can’t hide his smile either. Glancing shyly up at Dean, Castiel can feel in his gut that the boy isn’t fucking with him. And Dean seems so confident, so genuine, that some of Castiel's nerves go away, and he finds himself having a _real_ conversation. A conversation with the most gorgeous guy he has ever laid eyes on. Yeah, that probably sounds like hyperbole, but it’s true. 

“You gonna go to art school or something in the future?” Dean asks, seeming to take a real interest in him. 

“I would love to,” Castiel admits, “but there’s no way my parents would ever pay for that. What about you?”

“You’re so good, though,” Dean counters, leaving Castiel’s question unanswered, “I’m sure you could get scholarships or whatever.” 

“Maybe,” Castiel shrugs, “still pretty sure they’d disown me.” 

“Huh,” Dean says, “shitty parents?” Castiel snorts. 

“Guess you could say that,” Castiel agrees. “What about you? Are your parents hard on you?”

“Pretty sure mom was an honest to god angel,” Dean says sadly, “but she’s dead. Dad was probably okay when she was around, but he’s a real piece of work now.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says for lack of anything better to say. 

“Don’t be. You got any siblings?” Dean asks, and Castiel rolls his eyes dramatically, eliciting a smile from Dean. “That bad?” he asks with a laugh. 

“Well, Gabe’s an annoying jerk, but he can be alright. He at least treats me like I’m a normal person. Anael is a snobby bitch, Michael thinks he’s god’s gift to the world, and I’m pretty sure my parents agree, and Lucifer is an evil bastard. Really grew into his name. And Raphael, well, he’s only two, so he’s fine, but I'm sure they’ll all turn him against me too once he’s old enough.” Dean looks at him dumbfounded.

“Wait a sec, pump the brakes! Your parents named a kid _Lucifer_? What the fuck?! I mean, no offense man, but your family sounds fuckin’ weird,” Dean blurts, eyebrows raised. 

“No offense taken!” Castiel assures him, “they _are_ weird. Sometimes I wish I was an orphan,” he adds dryly. 

“I hear you. Jeez, and I thought being named after my grandma was weird,” Dean laughs, “but fuckin’ _Lucifer!?_ They were just asking for an evil kid.” Castiel actually finds himself laughing. He’d almost forgotten how that feels. 

“ _Castiel’s_ not much better,” he says with another eye roll. 

“Nah, it’s better. It’s, uhh… _unique,_ ” Dean replies. 

“You’re a bad liar,” Castiel grins. 

“Okay, yeah it’s a weird name, but I guess it could be worse,” Dean says, shaking his head and smiling. 

“Yeah, I guess.” Castiel feels so warm and fuzzy inside, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “Uh, you got any siblings?” 

“Just one. Sammy’s thirteen. He’s a great kid though, really smart, real caring.” Dean suddenly looks like he’s gone far away, a somber look in his eyes. “Fuck… feel like I really let him down,” Dean adds bitterly. 

“Sorry,” Cas says again, wishing he could think of something better. 

“So what’s with all the crazy names, anyway? Your family in some kinda cult or something?” Dean asks, obviously changing the subject. Castiel snorts again.

“Actually, that’s not far off,” he says. “They’re _very_ religious. We’re all named after angels,” Castiel says, rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah? I don’t remember a ‘Castiel’ in the Bible,” Dean comments. 

“That’s because there isn’t one,” Castiel replies, “you know much about the Bible?”

“Some. Mostly just read the parts having to do with angels or demons. Always found that shit interesting,” Dean says with a shrug, and Castiel’s eyes travel to one of the tattoos on Dean’s arm. “Guess it shows,” Dean says, noticing Castiel’s gaze. 

“Are those, like, demonic symbols?” Castiel asks boldly, almost hopefully. But Dean laughs. At least he isn’t offended, Castiel thinks, thankfully. 

“Nah, but I let people think they are if it gets them to leave me alone,” Dean smirks. “This one,” he says, pointing to a small row of symbols just above his elbow on the inside of his arm, “is Enochian. Angel language. And this one,” he adds, pulling the neck of his scrub top off to the left side, revealing a pentagram wreathed by flames, “protects against demon possession.”

“That’s awesome,” Castiel comments enthusiastically, even if he has to admit to himself that he’s a little disappointed in Dean’s not being a devil worshipper. _That_ would have been perhaps too perfect, a perfect way to piss off his parents. “I thought you had to be eighteen to get tattoos,” Castiel says, curious. 

“Not if you know the right people,” Dean replies mysteriously. Castiel wants to ask him all about each tattoo he has, but he figures that’s probably too personal for now. There’s a brief lull in the conversation as Castiel debates with himself about what to say next. Dean beats him to it, though. 

“Hey, uh, Cas?” Dean asks suddenly. _Cas_ , Castiel likes it. 

“Yeah?”

“How long have you been here?” Dean asks, his eyes as sincere as ever. 

“About a week, why?” Castiel replies shyly. 

“Just wondering. Dunno how long they’re gonna keep me.” Dean seems somber again. 

“Well, a lot of kids aren’t here that long,” Cas offers. “A week is sort of long.” Dean nods. “They usually just keep you here until they don’t thing you’re gonna kill yourself or murder someone.”

“But they’re keeping you? You some kinda homicidal maniac, Cas?” Dean asks with a grin. Normally, this topic would make Castiel uncomfortable, but the way Dean talks, feels so different. He doesn’t feel judged by Dean or condemned by Dean. 

“No,” Castiel answers, shaking his head, “but I guess they’ll keep you as long as your parents want them to, if your parents donate enough money to build a new hospital wing.” Dean stare at him, mouth agape, a look of confusion in his eyes. 

“Holy hell, Cas,” Dean mutters, “well that just opens up a whole bunch of new questions. So you’re a rich kid? Your parents some kind of shady lawyers or Wallstreet whatevers?”

“Ugh. I wish,” Cas deadpans. 

“Well, what? You got me curious now!” Dean prods. Cas sighs loudly.

“I guess you’d find out sooner or later, so I may as well just tell you,” Castiel grumbles. “My dad is _Jimmy Novak._ ” When Dean doesn’t say anything, Castiel looks up at him. 

“Oookay?” Dean questions, “so what? Am I supposed to know who that is?” At this, Castiel’s face lights up. 

“Really? You don’t recognize that name?” he asks hopefully. 

“Uh, no. Should I?”

“Thank god,” Cas breathes. “Most people around here do, and it _sucks._ ”

“Why? What does he do?” Dean asks. 

“He’s a ‘televangelist,’” Castiel groans, “leads a stupid fake-as-fuck megachurch.”

“Damn,” Dean says, “still, must be nice, having money and stuff.” Castiel shrugs. 

“I mean, I don’t wanna sound ungrateful, but I’d give up the money to have a decent family.”

“Do they beat you or something?” Dean asks bluntly. 

“Well, no. Actually I can’t remember the last time my dad was close enough to touch me at all.”

“Lucky,” Dean says with a cold laugh. “Still don’t get why you’re here.”

“‘Cause I’m a fuckin’ embarrassment,” Cas snaps without meaning to. Dean raises his hands in surrender, and Cas apologizes before adding, “you wanna know why? So you can pick on me like everyone else?”

“No, Cas, shit, just curious is all. Why would I do that?” Dean says sincerely, and maybe Cas believes him. 

“Because I’m gay, and we live in the fucking _Bible Belt,_ and everyone else does,” Cas blurts, looking down at his hands. Dean just stares at him blankly. 

“And?” Dean says after a moment, as if he’s expecting Castiel to continue, to get to the part when he says what’s “wrong” with him. 

“There’s no ‘and,’ Dean,” Cas says quietly. 

“I don’t understand,” Dean says plainly. 

“What don’t you understand?” Cas says, his tone implying that it’s completely obvious. 

“Cas,” Dean begins, his voice rough and low, “I OD’ed on Oxy and Jack. I guess I fucked it up with too much whiskey, ‘cause I puked it up all over and didn’t die. _That’s_ why I’m here. So what crazy-ass shit did you do to land your ass in here with me?” Castiel’s eyes are wide. He’s frozen, unsure what to say to that. 

“Dean, I…” Cas hesitates. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t need your sympathy,” Dean says coldly. Castiel swallows the lump in his throat. “Why are you here?”

“I’m gay,” Castiel repeats, but Dean’s expression doesn’t change. 

“So what?” Dean says. “What’s this place gonna help?”

“I dunno, but my parents want me _fixed,_ ” Cas says defeatedly. 

“Don’t sound like you need fixing,” Dean says, leaning back in his chair and Cas smiles. 

“I don’t know about that. Honestly, though? I don’t really mind being here. Better than being home,” Castiel says lightly. 

“So, lemme get this straight,” Dean says, “you’re into dudes, your parents want you not to be, and they sent you here to fix that? Dude, I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.” Castiel grins.

“Well, it hasn’t worked so far,” Cas snorts. 

“Would the hospital actually keep you here for that, though? I mean, that’s fucked up.”

“Probably not, but my parents said I was threatening to kill myself or some bullshit, so they’d take me. And they’re rich, and have lots of lawyers, and can pretty much get their way about anything, so here I am.”

“Damn,” Dean replies. “They don’t know lying is a sin?” he jokes.

“Ha!” Castiel laughs, “my dad’s a total fucking hypocrite. My mom’s hooked on pills, Lucifer is basically a felon waiting to be caught, Michael is a conceited douchebag and pathological liar, Gabe is a kleptomaniac who enjoys coke and hookers, and Anael is a total narcissistic slut, and I may be losing track, but I think she’s had like three abortions. But yeah, _my_ sin is the disgraceful, ‘embarrassment to the family’ one,” Cas rolls his eyes. 

“Holy shit!” Dean grins, “if it weren’t for the hypocrisy, they’d almost sound like a fun bunch.” Cas just shakes his head, laughing. 

When meal time is over, Castiel finds himself disappointed, unready to end the time with Dean. 

“Guess I’ll see you around, Cas,” Dean says simply, and Cas nods, watching him walk down the hall, wishing he had something clever to say in return.


	6. Sammy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: child abuse (not sexual)

The morning after Dean ODed:

“I don’t wanna go!” Sam shouts at his father, “I wanna stay here with Dean!”

“Sam, if you don’t shut up this instant, so help me god…” John growls through gritted teeth. The look in his eyes tells Sam that he _isn’t_ fucking around. “If you _ever_ want to see Dean again, you will shut up and follow me right now.” Sam bites his lip, trying with everything in him not to cry, knowing tears will only piss his dad off further. 

“Can I at least say goodbye to him?” Sam asks quietly. 

“What did I just say? Not another word.” Sam nods and follows his dad down the hallway, away from the person that he loves more than anything in the world. 

The ride home in John’s truck is silent. Tears run down Sam’s cheeks, but he stares out the window, hiding them from his dad. When they get home, a feeling of dread creeps into Sam’s chest. He doesn’t want to enter that house, see the evidence that this whole thing _really happened._

“Hurry up, Sam, come on,” John says to him when he freezes at the front door. Sam obeys dutifully, watching as his father grabs a beer from the fridge, completely ignoring the evidence of the fight he’d had with his older son. Sam stands motionless as his dad crosses to the living room, flopping down on the couch, and that’s where he stays for the rest of the day, only getting up for the next drink.

Sam doesn’t know what to do. His head is spinning, and every glance into the kitchen sends chills through his body. John isn’t going to clean it up, Sam knows, and Dean isn’t here, which leaves only one option. Sam throws himself into cleaning. He picks up all the broken glass and broken plates, only cutting himself a few times. He scrubs the floor until it is cleaner than it has ever been. He scrubs the walls. He has to change his bucket of water frequently as he scrubs at the dried blood; the metallic smell of the bloody water makes him want to vomit. Whenever he thinks he is finished with the blood spatter, he finds another drop somewhere. He spends the entire day this way until the whole place smells like bleach, and Sam feels high off the fumes. It’s getting dark outside. 

“Better get to bed, Sammy. You got school tomorrow,” John says suddenly. It’s the first thing he has said all day, and he says it as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Sam hadn’t expected to be thanked for the hours of work he had done, hadn’t expected to be praised for saving his brother’s life, but this? John hasn’t said a word about Dean or what had occurred. Not one word. Sam can’t stand it, and tears are again rolling down his face, tears of rage and disbelief. 

“Go on, Sam,” his dad says again coldly. The bedroom he shares with Dean is the _last_ place he wants to go right now. It’s all too fresh. He almost expects to see apparitions of the past day's events if he goes in there, shadowy ghosts of Dean, the paramedics, himself, the trainee, like a haunting caused by an emotionally charged event. But Sam doubts his dad would understand any of that. 

“Can I sleep out here? Just for tonight?” Sam asks desperately. 

“No.”

“But, dad, the room’s a mess,” Sam protests weakly. 

“I said ‘no,’ Sam! The whole fucking house is a mess. I don’t know what Dean does all day. He dropped out of school, you’d think he could at least keep the place clean,” John says coldly. It’s the first time he has mentioned Dean all evening. 

“He has two jobs,” Sam says quietly. 

“Don’t sass me, boy! Go to bed, and don’t make me tell you again!” John shouts, and Sam knows he’s gone too far, but he just can’t stop the next words out of his mouth. 

“This is all your fault, you know! Dean tried to kill himself because of _you!_ ” Sam screams. It’s the first time he has ever dared to raise his voice to their father. He’s never done it before, because he knows John would take it out on Dean, but Dean isn’t here now. 

“Don’t you _dare_ put this on me, boy,” John growls, standing from his spot on the couch, and Sam knows he’s in for it this time. “I didn’t make Dean do shit! Dean’s weakness has nothing to do with me!”

“He’s not weak!” Sam shouts, backing up against the wall as his father approaches, “and you treat him like shit! You hurt him, and tell him he’s worthless, but he isn’t!” Sam is sobbing now, knowing he should shut up and run for it, but he just can’t. “If Dean…” But his father cuts him off. 

“Shut your goddamn mouth, and go to bed!” John roars, grabbing Sam by the arm and wrenching him forward. Sam cries out as he feels a crack in his wrist, followed by a sharp pain. His dad releases him and he falls to the floor. Sam stays there, curling into the fetal position, trying to shield himself from the onslaught that he knows is coming. It surprises him when instead, he hears his dad wrench the front door open, followed by the roar of his truck, and the squealing of tires. 

Slowly, Sam pushes himself up with his good arm, cradling his right close to his body. It’s already swelling badly, but he doesn’t know what to do. He has nowhere to go for help, and he has no idea when his father will return, so he decides it would be best if he hurried to his room, and stayed there for the rest of the night. 

He takes a deep breath and walks toward his bedroom. At least the pain in his arm distracts somewhat from his mental anguish. 

The smell is overwhelming: vomit and dried blood. Dean’s bed is a mess. With one arm, Sam struggles, but gathers Dean’s bedding, hauling it down the hall to the washing machine. He dumps about half a gallon of bleach in with it and turns it on hot. He knows he’s probably ruining the sheets, but he doesn’t care; he’d have burned them, if that had been an option. 

Returning to the room, he opens the window and tries to lay down on his bed. He can’t turn the light out. He puts on Dean’s favorite Zeppelin record, careful not to scratch it, but he still can’t sleep. He can’t stay here, can’t stay in this room alone. He gets up and walks over to the record player, and something on Dean’s nightstand catches his eye: the keys to the Impala. 

Without hesitation, Sam grabs the keys, his pillow, and his blanket, and rushes to the front door of the house, hoping John is still gone. He is. 

Carefully, Sam crawls into the backseat of the Impala, locks all the doors, and curls up with his blanket and pillow. Being a teenage boy, Dean has left plenty of junk in the backseat, including an old sweatshirt. Sam would never admit it, but he buries his face in that sweatshirt; it smells like Dean, and it calms him, if only a little. Sam shifts a little and feels a lump in his pocket. It’s his cell phone. 

He pulls it out of his pocket, he moves to set it aside, but notices he has a new voice message from an unknown number. Dean’s voice comes through the speaker, soft and slightly distorted, but it’s _Dean_ , and he’s okay. Sam plays the message over and over, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his wrist. Eventually, he falls into an exhaustion-induced sleep. 

The next morning, Sam wakes up and looks out the Impala’s window. His dad’s truck is still gone, and he breathes a little sigh of relief. 

He struggles through his morning routine one-handed, but manages to make it to school on time. About halfway through the school day, his home room teacher takes notice of his wrist. Reluctantly, Sam tugs his sleeve up so she can look at it. It’s horribly swollen, black and blue, and Sam admits he can’t really move the fingers on that hand. His teacher is horrified. Sam, of course, claims it was an accident. 

After a number of calls to John that remain unanswered, it is decided that the school’s guidance counselor and social worker will drive Sam to the hospital. 

Worse than the pain, Sam’s anxiety flares. He just knows this will not end well.


	7. Carry That Weight

Billie gazes at Dean patiently, waiting for a response. It’s his first one on one session with a psychiatrist, and it’s painfully uncomfortable. He likes Billie and all; she seems cool, but that doesn’t make it any easier for him to talk about his _feelings_. 

“Let’s start with something easier, perhaps,” Billie suggests, moving on from the question Dean was failing to answer. “How are you adjusting to being here?”

“I dunno,” Dean mutters. 

“Well, do you feel comfortable? Have you spoken with any of the staff or other residents?”

“Yeah, a little. Can’t say it’s really comfortable. No privacy and all that,” Dean says. 

“It can be quite an adjustment when you’re used to having your own space. I can understand that. Can you tell me about the people you’ve met?” Billie has her pen poised, ready to scrawl across the page in her notepad, and Dean finds it unnerving. 

“Uh, well there was Missouri. She let me leave Sammy a message, so that was nice.” Billie nods, her eyes still focused on him. “And uh, met a kid named Cas. Seems cool, I guess. His family sounds pretty crazy.”

“Yeah? How does that make you feel about your own family?” Billie asks gently. 

“Guess I’m not the only one with a fucked up family.” Billie smiles, and is about to say something when there is a quiet knock on the door. 

“I’m so sorry,” the nurse says as she peeks her head into the room. “Dean?” 

“That’s me,” Dean says. 

“I have a phone call on hold for you. So sorry to interrupt, but it is important.” Dean nods, and stands to follow her, his stomach beginning to churn with anxiety. 

“What is it?” he asks, “everything okay?”

“Yes, everything will be alright. Your brother wants to speak with you. He hurt his wrist, but he’s okay.”

“What do you mean?” Dean says, a little louder and more forcefully than he means to. 

“Here,” she says, handing him the phone.

“Sammy!?” Dean asks urgently, pressing the receiver to his ear. 

“Dean!” Sam says, sounding confusingly happy. 

“Hey, are you alright? They said you’re hurt,” Dean says anxiously. 

“Yeah, broke my wrist, but now I feel… floaty.” Sam says, and he sounds a little goofy, definitely a little high on some pain killers. 

“You broke your wrist!?” Dean exclaims. 

“Yeah. I’m in the ER right now. Wanna see you, Dean,” and Sam suddenly sounds even younger than he is. 

“You’re in the ER!? Is dad with you?” Dean can’t help raising his voice, and he knows people are staring at him. 

“No. Dunno where he is.”

“Humph, figures,” Dean says bitterly, fuming. “Sammy, how did you break your wrist?” Dean asks with a sinking feeling in his gut that only grows with Sam’s response. 

“I, uh… I fell,” Sam says uncertainly. Dean knows he’s lying. 

“Someone in the room with you?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“ _He_ did it, didn’t he?” Dean says in a hushed tone.

“Yeah.” Sam sounds distant, his voice small and frail. 

_”That son of a bitch!”_ Dean swears under his breath. His hands are shaking now, his temper flaring. He wants so badly to punch something, to rip the phone out of the wall and throw it down the hallway. He can feel tears burning in his eyes. One fucking night. He was gone for _one fucking night,_ and his little brother already paid for it. 

“Sammy?” Dean says quietly. “Maybe you should tell someone.” He is terrified of losing Sam to the foster system, but now the idea of Sam left alone with their father scares him even more. 

“What if I have to leave? I wanna stay with you,” Sam says with a trembling voice that breaks Dean’s heart. 

“I know, Sammy, I want that too, but I don’t want you gettin’ hurt again.” Dean can hear Sam sniffling on the other line, which causes the onset of his own damn tears. 

“When are you coming home? Wanna see you,” Sam sniffs.

“I… I don’t know, Sam, but I really wanna see you too.”

“Can you come see me now?” Sam asks hopefully. 

“Dunno if they’ll let me, but I’ll try, okay? Sammy, you got this number right? You call me every day, okay?”

“Okay, Dean, I will. Please come home soon.”

“I’ll do my best, I promise. I got to go, but I’ll see if I can visit you.”

“‘Kay. Bye Dean,” Sam sniffs. 

“Bye, Sammy.” Dean whirls around as soon as he hangs up the phone. “I gotta go!” he says loudly to the nearest staff member. “I need to get out of here now!” He can tell he’s losing it. He’s hyperventilating, panic flooding his system. His baby brother is alone in the ER, and there is nothing he can do about it. 

Hearing Dean’s raised voice, Missouri hurries around the corner. 

“Dean?” She says kindly. She approaches him as the other staff members back away, ready to call security if need be. “Can you please come with me?” Dean looks at her and she can see the panic written across his face. “Come on, sugar.” He follows her down the hallway. 

“Missouri, please, I need to get out of here! It’s real important,” Dean says desperately as she leads him into a quiet room with a few chairs. 

“Hold up, Dean, and tell me what’s going on,” Missouri says evenly, turning to face him, “I need you to _calmly_ tell me what’s wrong.” Her steady tone and lack of panic are nearly too much for Dean. He wants to shout, but he knows he can’t if he wants any chance of seeing Sam. 

“It’s Sammy, he’s hurt, and he’s alone in the ER, and I _gotta_ be with him. ‘S my fault he’s there in the first place!” Dean says as calmly as he can, but the panic and rage he feels is bubbling just below the surface. “Missouri, _please,_ I have to be with him!”

“Dean, where is your father? Isn’t he with your brother?” Missouri asks, concern in her eyes. 

“I dunno where he is, probably out drunk somewhere, but Sammy’s alone,” Dean says with tears in his eyes, “I gotta go take care of him!”

“Oh dear,” Missouri sighs sadly. “I wish I could let you go see him, Dean, I’d take you myself, but we need your father’s permission. We need him here to sign you out.” Dean can’t believe his ears. 

“What are you talking about!? Sammy is in this fucking building!” Dean shouts, unable to control himself any longer. He’s seething. He can’t think straight. “He’s just a kid, and he’s hurt, and I’m all he has!” He spins around and punches the wall, regretting the decision immediately when he feels a burning pain in his palm. 

“Dean,” Missouri says sternly, unshaken by his outburst, “I want to help you. We all want to help you, but I can’t do anything if you can’t keep yourself under control. There are a few nurses in here who’d have called security already. We have seen a lot of kids lash out, angry, frustrated. They get violent. Now I want to give you the benefit of the doubt, Dean. I don’t believe you want to hurt anyone here except maybe yourself. Am I right about that?” Dean nods, and hangs his head. He can feel blood dripping down his fingers where he’d popped a stitch in the palm of his hand. 

“‘M sorry,” he says quietly. 

“Good. Now let me see that hand, sugar, then we can try to see about a visit with your brother.”

* * *

Missouri patches up his hand, and tells him to wait in his room while she makes some phone calls. 

Dean collapses onto his bed, and soon hears a gentle knocking on his doorframe. 

“What do you want?” he asks harshly, knowing it’s too soon to be Missouri. 

“Uh, it’s me. Is everything okay?” Castiel asks hesitantly. 

“No,” Dean says bitterly, “actually, everything’s fucking awful.” He doesn’t turn to face Cas. He can’t. He can’t face anyone right now. 

“Oh, sorry,” Cas says softly. 

“Yeah? Sorry for what?” Dean murmurs into his pillow. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Castiel asks. 

“I wanna be fuckin’ left alone,” Dean growls. Cas doesn’t say anything, but Dean can hear the boy walk across the hall, shutting the door to his own room. Tears burn in his eyes. Like so many of the things he’s done, Dean regrets being an asshole almost immediately. He knows the kid was trying to be friendly, and Dean basically slapped him in the face. 

Dean sobs hard into his pillow, hoping no one can hear him. Last thing he needs is a bunch of crazy kids thinking he’s a “pussy.”

* * *

“Let’s go, sugar, you’ve got a visitor!” It’s Missouri. Dean isn’t sure how long he’s been out, but he rubs his eyes and jumps out of bed so fast he feels dizzy. 

Missouri takes him down a hallway he hasn’t visited before. She leads him to a small room with a couple chairs and a couch. 

“Make yourself comfortable; I’ll be right back,” she says to him, and Dean plops himself down on the couch. He rubs his eyes again and runs his fingers through his hair a couple times, hoping he doesn’t look like the wreck he is. 

The next time the door opens, Dean is greeted by Sam’s smiling, possibly still a little doped-up face. 

“Dean!” Sam cries as if they haven’t seen each other in ages. Dean stands quickly to greet him. Sam immediately wraps his arms around Dean’s waist. Missouri smiles at them, gently shutting the door and leaving them to themselves. Dean knows they aren’t _really_ alone; there’s a camera on the ceiling, but he appreciates the pseudo-privacy anyway. 

“Sammy,” Dean sighs as he returns his little brother’s hug. “Are you okay?” he asks, pulling back to look at Sam’s face. 

“Yeah,” he replies, “just want you to come home.” 

“Me too, believe me.” Together, they sit on the couch. Dean sits cross legged with his back against an arm of the couch, and Sam copies him. 

“Why are you here, anyway?” Sam asks. “Dad hasn’t told me anything.” 

“They wanna keep me here until they know I won’t hurt myself,” Dean answers truthfully, glancing up into Sam’s sad, hazel eyes. 

“You won’t, though, right?” Sam asks softly. 

“No. It was a huge mistake, and I’m so sorry. I promise you, Sammy, I won’t do that again.” Dean can literally hear Sam breathe a sigh of relief. “But I don’t know how long I have to stay here.” Sam sighs. 

“Sam, how's your arm?” Dean asks after a pause. 

“Okay. Feels better now that it’s fixed,” Sam answers, holding out the arm with a cast. Sam had chosen neon green for the color. 

“You’re real brave, you know, handling that all by yourself.” Sam smiles at Dean, always happy to receive his big brother’s praise. “How did it happen, though? Tell me the truth.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at dad,” Sam says quietly. “It was my fault.”

“No, Sammy, it wasn’t. You have as much right to yell as anyone,” Dean says, anger at their father seeping from his pores. “He has no right to touch you. Tell me what he did.” And Sam tells him the whole story. 

“I’m so sorry, Sam,” Dean sighs, defeated, “none of this should have happened.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Sam says, gazing at Dean as if he’s the most important person in the world, and to Sam, he is. 

“Thanks to you,” Dean says seriously, and Sam lunges forward, crawling across the couch to wrap his arms around him once more. Sam isn’t usually so clingy, but Dean understands why that has changed, and likewise, he takes comfort in his brother’s embrace, knowing there is one person in the world who cares about him so deeply. 

Dean can feel Sam’s body beginning to tremble, all of the boy’s fear and sorrow, and pain, pouring out of him suddenly after holding himself together for so long. Dean holds him tighter as Sam begins sobbing uncontrollably, his tears hot as they make contact with Dean’s skin. 

“I’m scared,” Sam chokes. “I don’t know how to deal with dad like you do.” Dean squeezes his own eyes shut against his own pain and the fear he doesn’t want to show Sam. 

“Sammy, are there any kids at school you could stay with til I’m out of here?” Dean asks, wracking his brain for any solution that doesn’t end in losing Sam to the system or Sam being hurt again. 

“I don’t know,” Sam sniffs, “maybe, but what about tonight? I don’t want to go home without you.”

“We could tell one of the nurses here the truth.”

“No! I don’t wanna be sent away from you!” Sam cries. 

“Sammy,” Dean says sadly, “couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you…”

“Please don’t tell,” Sam pleads with him. 

“Fine. Listen to me though,” Dean says, pulling away to look into Sam’s eyes, “if anything happens, if dad gets mad or drunk or whatever, if he even comes near you, I want you to run. Okay? You run out of there and hide. Keep your phone on you all the time and call here as soon as you can.”

“Okay,” Sam says, hiccuping, “I- I will.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” Dean says, trying to sound confident, “as soon as I’m out of here, I’ll figure something out.” Sam nods and leans back in, tightening his grip again. Then there is a gentle knock on the door, and Missouri enters, smiling at the brothers, Sam, apparently not ready to let go. 

“Sorry, you two, but you’re needed back downstairs, Sam,” she says apologetically. “The doctor wants to check you out once more, make sure those meds are wearing off alright before sending you home.” Sam sniffs and nods, finally letting go of his older brother. 

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Sam says suddenly, pulling a Sharpie out of his pocket, “you wanna sign it?” he says to Dean, proffering the marker and his casted arm. 

“Sure,” Dean says with a crooked grin. 

Quickly, Dean scrawls out a message, followed by a sigil Sam is familiar with, the same one Dean has tattooed on his chest. Sam smiles when he sees it. 

“I’ll see you again real soon, Sammy,” Dean says, pulling Sam in for a last hug. “Remember what I told you.”

“I will. Bye, Dean,” Sam replies, and Dean can hear in his voice that he is struggling not to begin crying again. 

He releases Sam from his arms and watches as a nurse leads him away down the hall. He feels suddenly cold without Sam’s warmth at his side. Cold and alone, exhaustion grips him, a tiredness that seeps into his bones. 

“It’s dinner time, Dean,” Missouri says softly. Dean sighs and rubs his face hard, fighting back the emotions that are threatening to spill down his cheeks. 

“Not hungry,” Dean grunts, “just wanna go to bed.”

“Alright,” Missouri replies reluctantly, and Dean is grateful she doesn’t fight him on this. 

“Thanks,” Dean says quietly, “for everything.” 

“You’re quite welcome,” she replies with a smile and a pat on his shoulder.

* * *

In his room again Dean crawls onto his bed, pulling the blanket up over his head, blocking out the light from the hallway. Eventually he falls into a fitful sleep. 

Yellow eyes burn through the darkness at him, and he can’t breathe. A sinister voice echoes in his head, its bass notes vibrating in his chest. 

“What have you done, Dean?” the voice taunts, “I think you know.” A cold laugh tears through his body, making his ribs ache. “Sent your _Sammy_ back into waiting jaws. We’ll tear him to shreds. There's nothing you can do.”

Dean wakes, a strangled scream in his throat. He sits shakily on the edge of his bed, panting, gasping for breath, his hands trembling as he feels sweat trickling down his back. _They’re gonna get to Sammy._


	8. I'll Dream of Him Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for further discussion of self harm

Earlier that day: 

“What do you want?” Dean asks harshly, replying to Castiel’s soft knock on his doorframe. 

“Uh, it’s me. Is everything okay?” Castiel asks hesitantly. Maybe this is a big mistake. 

“No,” Dean says bitterly, “actually, everything’s fucking awful.” He doesn’t turn to face Cas. A jolt runs through Castiel’s chest. 

“Oh, sorry,” Cas says softly. 

“Yeah? Sorry for what?” Dean murmurs into his pillow. Castiel can feel the hurt creeping into his chest already. He knew this was a bad idea, but for some reason he presses further. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Castiel asks. 

“I wanna be fuckin’ left alone,” Dean growls. Sadly, Castiel retreats, returning to his own room and shutting the door. He tries not to take Dean’s words personally. Meg had reported gleefully that Dean had had some sort of outburst earlier, something to do with his brother. Still, Dean’s words sting. Castiel doesn’t know what he expected. They’d had one conversation; it isn’t like they’re close. Maybe Dean felt like one conversation was enough. 

Suddenly, Castiel feels like he is going to start crying, and he _hates_ that. He tells himself not to be such an idiot. Crying over some guy he doesn’t even really know, just because the guy had a bad day and snapped at him?! Stupid. He tells himself to forget about it and work on his drawing. 

But Castiel can’t forget about it. He does, however, jam his earbuds into his ears and pull out his sketchbook. He sketches through _Nowhere Man, Octopus’s Garden, I am the Walrus, Yesterday,_ and then _I Want You_ begins to play, and Castiel throws his pencil across the room and begins pacing in his tiny space like he always does when he’s frustrated. 

_  
I want you  
You know I want you so bad, babe  
I want you  
You know I want you so bad  
It's driving me mad  
It's driving me mad _

Goddamnit.

* * *

When dinner time rolls around, Castiel _still_ finds himself hoping Dean will talk to him again. Every time the door opens, he looks up hopefully, but each time, he is disappointed. Eventually, dinner ends without Dean’s ever making an appearance, and Castiel finds himself worrying a little. They aren’t usually allowed to skip meals; it must have been something serious that happened. 

When Castiel returns to his room, he notes that Dean’s light is off. If Dean is in there, he must be sleeping. Cas stands at his own door for a few moments, debating with himself over whether or not he should check on Dean. He ultimately decides not to. Dean had made it pretty clear earlier that he didn’t want company. 

As Castiel is turning to walk into his own room, however, he hears what sounds like a strange, muffled scream, followed by the sound of a person gasping for air. Castiel rushes to Dean’s door, freezing in the doorframe. Dean is sitting on the edge of his bed, facing away from the door, struggling to catch his breath. 

“Dean?” Castiel says so softly he isn’t even completely sure he said it at all. 

“Cas?” Dean says with a trembling voice. He doesn’t sound irritated now. Instead, he sounds shaken, scared almost, like a younger version of himself. 

“Yeah,” Castiel answers, still hesitant, waiting in the doorframe to be told to leave, “are you okay?”

“No,” Dean says quietly, his voice still lacking the bite it had possessed earlier. 

“Uh,” Castiel says, biting his lip, “do you want me to, um, go get Missouri or something?”

“No,” Dean says, his voice sounding like it’s going to break. He still hasn’t turned to look at Castiel. 

“Sorry,” Castiel says softly, “I can… I can go if you want…” he offers. But Dean doesn’t reply right away, and Castiel is still frozen in the doorframe. 

“Cas?” Dean whispers after a while. 

“Yeah?”

“You can come in if you want… if that’s allowed.” Castiel’s heart feels like it does a somersault then, and he steps into the room, walking around to stand in front of Dean. Even in the dim light, Castiel can see that Dean has been crying. 

“Have a seat, Cas,” Dean says in a tone that tells Cas he’s trying very hard to hold himself together. Carefully, Castiel sits cross legged at the foot of the bed and watches as Dean rubs his face vigorously with both hands. 

“You weren’t at dinner,” Cas says for lack of anything better. 

“Wasn’t hungry.” Dean says mechanically. 

“Oh.” And then Dean breaks down again, burying his face in his hands. 

“Cas, I think Sammy’s in danger,” Dean manages to get out. 

“Your brother?” Castiel asks, wishing he were better at this. Dean nods. 

“I’m stuck in here, and he’s out there alone, and I can’t protect him. _Fuck!_ I… I don’t know what to do,” Dean murmurs. 

“What… why is he in danger?”

“Well, our dad’s a piece of shit, so there’s one reason,” Dean says bitterly. “I’ve been gone one fuckin’ day, and Sammy’s wrist is already broken,” Dean mutters, wiping more tears from his cheeks. 

“Shit,” Castiel says, shocked, “your _dad_ did it?” Dean nods. “Damn. I wish I could help.”

“You got any hit men in that fucked up family of yours, Cas?” Dean asks darkly. 

_“What?”_ Castiel replies, sort of taken aback. 

“I was only kidding,” Dean says with the hint of a grin, “well, mostly…” 

“Well, I wouldn’t put it past Lucifer, to be honest,” Castiel says, laughing softly, “though I also wouldn’t count on him for anything.”

“Ah, well,” Dean sighs, his breathing seeming at least to have returned to normal. The two sit quietly for a few minutes until Dean speaks up again. 

“Hey, Cas, do you believe in demons?” Dean asks, trying to sound casual. 

“Uh, I dunno, do you?” Castiel says, surprised by the question. 

“Nevermind.”

“What, why?”

“Don’t want you thinkin’ I’m crazy,” Dean replies. 

“I won’t!” Cas insists. 

“Nah, forget about it.”

“Why do you care what I think anyway?” Castiel asks, and this time he’s the one trying to sound casual. 

“Don’t know. Just do.” _He didn’t deny it._ Castiel’s heart skips a beat, but he tries to tell himself this doesn’t mean anything. 

“Well what about this: I won’t think you’re crazy if you won’t think I’m crazy,” Cas offers. 

“I dunno, Cas,” Dean teases, sounding more like he had at lunch, “ _are_ you crazy?”

“I don’t think so,” Cas replies, “but at the same time, most crazy people don’t think they are, so who knows?”

“You got a point there,” Dean agrees.

“Do you believe in God?” Castiel asks next. 

“No,” Dean says simply. “You?”

“Used to, but I dunno anymore,” Castiel says sadly. “What about angels?”

“Well, I mean, you’re sitting right there,” Dean says with a goofy grin that definitely _doesn’t_ make the butterflies in Castiel’s stomach go freakin’ insane. 

“ _Very_ funny,” Cas replies, rolling his eyes and feigning annoyance. 

“But seriously, no,” Dean says. “Never seen any proof of ‘God’ or angels or any of that shit.”

“Me neither, I guess,” Cas agrees, “but demons?” Dean sighs heavily, which only serves to pique Castiel’s curiosity. 

“Yeah. They’re real,” Dean says quietly, averting his gaze and scratching at the bandages on his left arm. 

“Huh,” is all Cas can think of. 

“ _See!_ You think I’m fuckin’ crazy,” Dean says defensively. 

“No, I don’t,” Cas rushes to say. “I mean, that’s what I grew up believing; I’m just second guessing everything I once believed now. But I don’t think you’re crazy because of your beliefs.” That actually seems to relax Dean.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean says softly, the sincerity in his voice sending warm tingles through Castiel’s body. 

“Of course,” Cas replies, adding, “thanks for talking to me like I’m a normal person.” Dean glances up with a quizzical expression. 

“Whatd’ya mean?” he asks. 

“You know,” Cas says, blushing. He hopes Dean can’t tell in the dim light. “It sucks being the only ‘fag’ in a private Christian school.” 

“Goddamn. I don’t doubt it. They give you lots of shit?” Dean asks. 

“Yeah. And I’m not exactly strong enough to fight back.”

“Well, fuck ‘em. I’m so sick of this redneck, back-assward town anyway. You’re better than them. Soon as you’re 18, you ditch this bitch. That’s what I’m hoping for Sammy too.” Dean sighs, finally turning and swinging his legs up onto the bed, leaning his back against the wall at the head of the bed. 

“What about you? When are you gonna get out?” Cas asks. 

“Shit. Probably never,” Dean says gruffly. 

“Why do you say that?” Cas says, tilting his head, his brow furrowed. 

“Guess I might as well tell you,” Dean groans, and Cas again wonders why it seems that Dean _cares_ about his opinion of him. “I’m a dropout. Goin’ nowhere. Wasn’t good at school, and needed to get a job if I didn’t want Sammy goin’ hungry.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t go somewhere else.”

“I work at a fuckin’ salvage yard during the week and a gas station on the weekends and some nights. Not exactly a ticket out of here. You though, you got talent, and Sammy’s real smart.”

“Holy crap!” Cas says, “that’s impressive.”

“What is?”

“You! You are,” Castiel says softly, looking down at his hands. “It sounds like you work really hard. And how you take care of your brother… he’s lucky he has you.” And like a switch was flipped, Dean is crying again. “I’m sorry!” Cas says, “sorry if I said something wrong.”

“‘S not you, just, can’t believe what I’ve done to him,” Dean cries. 

“To Sam?”

“Sammy saved my life. I was pretty much dead when he found me. And he’s just a kid. No kid should have to experience that, you know? He called 911 and did CPR and all that shit. When I woke up in the hospital and they let him in to see me, he still had blood all over his clothes. My blood. And I know he blames himself for what I did even though I’ve told him again and again that nothing is his fault. Fuck. Sammy’s such a sweet kid, and all I’ve ever wanted was to protect him. Keep him innocent, and now what? Feel like I’ve fuckin’ destroyed him.”

“Shit,” Castiel breathes. “Can’t imagine what you’re going through. Both of you.” Cas so badly wants to reach out and take Dean’s hand, but he doesn’t. It isn’t allowed, but on top of that, he isn’t even sure Dean would want it. 

“Dean,” Cas begins softly after a moment, “is there anything I can do to help?” Dean looks up at him, sniffing and wiping his nose with the back of his hand. 

“Probably not,” he replies. “Never thought I’d say this, but it’s kinda nice to talk to someone about it though. Sorry I’m such a fucking mess right now. It’s fucking embarrassing.”

“You don’t look like a mess to me,” Castiel says softly, afraid to look into Dean’s eyes as he does, “and I’m happy to listen.”

“I think you need your eyes checked,” Dean snorts, but he’s grinning again through his tears, and Cas laughs too. Dean scratches at his arm again. 

“You mind if I ask what happened there?” Castiel asks hesitantly, indicating Dean’s bandaged arms. 

“Sure. I happened,” Dean answers bluntly. Cas furrows his brow, tilting his head again, something Meg has pointed out he does when he’s confused, like a “fucking German shepherd.” 

“I cut 'em all up,” Dean clarifies. 

“Oh,” Castiel says, “I thought you took Oxy.”

“I did. The cutting’s never been about killing myself, though I guess I went a little deeper than usual this time. Never got stitches for it before,” Dean says. He’s oddly casual about it. 

“Why?” Cas asks, “I mean, why do you do it?”

“What, are you my therapist now?” Dean snarks. 

“Sorry. You don’t have to tell me.” But something about the look on Castiel’s face seems to change Dean’s tone.”

“No, I’m sorry. I said you could ask. I dunno though. Never thought much about it, ‘cept to hide it from Sam. Guess it just feels good to feel _something,_ you know?” Cas doesn’t know. He has a difficult time understanding; the thought of taking a sharp instrument to his own arm gives him chills. He doesn’t think he’d be capable of cutting his own skin on purpose. 

“You mean, like it feels good?” Castiel asks, wide-eyed. 

“It’s hard to explain. It’s not like it doesn’t hurt. It does, but it’s something _I_ have control over, and _that_ feels good.”

“Oh.” Castiel tries hard to understand. “Do you do it a lot?”

“Sometimes. Off and on for a number of years now. Guess that sounds pretty fucked up, huh?” Dean sighs. 

“Well, maybe a little,” Castiel admits, “but I know a lot of people do it.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, one eyebrow raised. “Do I sound like a psycho, Cas?”

“No,” Castiel says sincerely. “I’ve been here long enough to know the difference.”

“Hmph,” Dean grunts, rubbing his face again. 

“We’re all a little fucked up some way,” Castiel says. 

“Except you,” Dean says, “you’re just here ‘cause your parents are fucked up.”

“Well, that’s _technically_ why I’m here, but I’ve got real shit too that my parents just don’t bother to notice.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asks. 

“I mean, I have real stuff they’ve diagnosed me with that I didn’t even realize wasn’t normal until I talked to the therapist they assigned to me.”

“Yeah, like what?”

“Like being unable to get out of bed for weeks at a time. I once went a couple weeks without showering or changing my clothes because it all seemed pointless. My parents only noticed when Anael started complaining about how gross I was. So I showered and went back to bed for another four days. Apparently that’s known in the psychiatric world as _clinical depression_. And I have panic attacks and intrusive thoughts that I can’t seem to control.” When Castiel looks back up at Dean, he’s met not by judgement, but by a look of understanding in those pretty green eyes, and he smiles a little. 

“Has it helped? Being here?” Dean asks sincerely. 

“Yeah. The meds they have me on seem to be working, and talking about it, and of course, being away from my family doesn’t hurt,” Cas ends with a grin.

“Well, that’s good then,” Dean replies. 

“Yeah. It’s not like I love being here, but I don’t mind it so much, really,” Cas says. 

Just then, there’s a knock on the doorframe announcing Missouri’s presence. 

“Lights out boys!” she says cheerily even though technically, Dean’s light is already out. If Castiel didn’t know any better, he’d say Dean actually looked disappointed to see him go. As Castiel is leaving he hears Dean speak up. 

“Hey, Cas?” Dean says, and Castiel turns to look over his shoulder. “Thanks.” 

“Of course,” he answers with a smile. “Night, Dean.” 

Castiel hears Missouri chat with Dean briefly, asking if he’s alright, before entering his own room and closing the door. 

His heart is racing, and he just knows he’s not going to be able to sleep any time soon, knows he won’t be able to get Dean out of his head. Still, he shuts off his light and crawls into bed, putting in his earbuds and turning on his music. All the while, he runs his conversation with Dean over and over in his head. 

Dean had told him so many things, _deeply_ personal things, and Castiel has the feeling that Dean isn’t the kind of person who opens up to just anyone. Neither is he, for that matter, but he’d felt comfortable telling Dean things he hasn’t told anyone else. _And Dean had just accepted it._ In fact, Cas reflects, Dean had seemed far more concerned with Castiel’s opinion of him. 

Once again, Castiel finds himself getting his hopes up, desperately wanting to talk with Dean again soon. He tries to tell himself he’s only setting himself up for disappointment, but he just can’t help it. So he lays awakes, thinking about Dean as The Beatles sing in his ears. 

_I've just seen a face  
I can't forget the time or place  
Where we just met  
She's just the girl for me  
And I want all the world to see  
We've met, mm-mm-mm-m'mm-mm_

_Had it been another day  
I might have looked the other way  
And I'd have never been aware  
But as it is I'll dream of her  
Tonight, di-di-di-di'n'di_

_Fallin', yes, I am fallin'_  
And she keeps callin'  
Me back again… 


	9. With a Little Help from My Friends

“You doin’ alright, sugar?” Missouri asks Dean once Cas has returned to his own room. 

“I don’t know,” Dean says quietly. 

“Your brother sure seems like a great kid,” she remarks. 

“He is. Just can’t quit worrying about him. He deserves so much more than all this.”

“He’s lucky he’s got a big brother who cares so much,” Missouri replies warmly, adding, “Now, is there anything you need before I call it quits for the evening?” before he can deny it. 

“No. Thanks though.” Missouri says her goodbyes, and Dean finds himself alone again. He thinks about Castiel sleeping in the room across the hall, and he finds himself thinking it would’ve been nice if he _was_ given a roommate. There’s something too goddamn lonely about this place at night. Maybe it’s because he is used to sleeping about ten feet away from Sammy, but he wishes he were sharing a room with Cas. It had been nice talking to him. 

In some ways Cas reminds Dean of Sam: Cas has an air of innocence about him. He seems sweet and honest and accepting like Sam. But there’s something else about him too, something that is very unlike Sam, something in those blue, blue eyes that draws him in. Castiel is so _different_ from the other kids he’d known before he dropped out of school. Cas, to put it simply, is interesting.

* * *

Dean wakes up before it’s time for breakfast and decides to find Missouri. She has just arrived and is settling herself down in the nurse’s station. Dean approaches calmly, leaning against the counter, trying hard to turn on that “Dean Winchester charm.”

“Mornin’ Missouri,” Dean says, the cheerful tone he uses feeling odd in his mouth. 

“Good morning to you too, Dean,” she replies, looking pleased, “did you sleep alright?”

“Good enough,” Dean shrugs. “Hey, I was wondering if maybe I could call Sammy’s school. Just want to check in, make sure he made it back okay with his wrist and everything.”

“Dean, shouldn’t your father be taking care of all that? You should be worrying about getting yourself well,” she says gently, with an appraising gaze. Dean knows he has to swallow his frustration and fear if he wants this to happen. 

“Honestly?” Dean answers calmly, “our dad’s gone a lot. It’s usually just me and Sam at home. I’m the one that looks out for him. Please, Missouri, I just want to know he’s okay so I won’t worry about him all day.” Missouri sighs. 

“Dean Winchester,” she says, clicking her tongue, “why do I get the feeling you aren’t telling me the whole truth?” But she looks up the number and dials it, handing him the phone. 

“Thank you,” he says as the phone rings. He asks to be transferred to the guidance counselor, explaining who he is. The woman on the end of the line sounds skeptical but transfers him anyway. 

“This is Lisa,” a woman’s voice says cheerfully. 

“Uhm, hi, Lisa, this is Dean Winchester. I’m Sam’s older brother,” Dean says a little hesitantly, “I think you were the one who brought him to the ER yesterday.”

“Oh,” she says, sounding surprised, “yes. We have actually been trying to contact your father, but we haven’t had any luck.”

“Uh, yeah, he can be difficult to reach,” Dean says, trying not to let his anger bleed out into his tone. “He’s gone a lot for, uh, work. I don’t know if Sam told you, but I’m in the hospital. I’m fine, but I might be here for a while. I got to see Sam yesterday before he went home, but I’m, well I wanna make sure he’s okay.”

“Sam did mention that you were not home. I’m glad you are doing alright, though. Is your father out of town?”

“I don’t know, honestly. I’ve only really spoken with Sam.”

“Hmm,” Lisa says, “we were rather concerned yesterday when we couldn’t reach him.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was hoping to talk to you about. I’m usually there if Sam needs anything, and I worry about him now that I’m not home. I know you’re probably really busy and got hundreds of other kids to worry about, but I was hoping that you or Sammy’s teacher could check in on him. Maybe let me know if he’s not getting to school every day… if you’re allowed to do that.”

“Of course, Dean. And if you _do_ hear from your father, will you please have him call us right away?”

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” Dean lies. He’s pretty sure he won’t be hearing from him any time soon, though even if he did, he wants all communication about Sam to be between Sam and himself.

“Great. Oh, and Dean, is there anything else we should know?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did Sam tell you anything about how he hurt his wrist?” _Shit._ Dean figures they’d probably be suspicious. Maybe it’s for the best, but he had promised Sam…

“He just told me he fell.”

“Hmm. That’s what he told us too,” she sighs. 

“Do you think he’s hiding something?” Dean asks, trying his best to sound casual. 

“I’m not trying to accuse anyone of anything, but we do have to consider all possibilities,” Lisa replies. 

“I understand.” Before ending the call, Dean gives Lisa his cell number, the phone number they can call while he’s in the hospital, and asks her to put him down as an emergency contact for Sam. He sighs as he hands the phone back to Missouri, wondering if he should have told Lisa more. 

“Missouri, can I ask you one more favor?” Dean says hopefully. 

“Oh, child,” she sighs dramatically, “it’s not even breakfast time yet!”

“I know. I’ve already asked so much, but I’d like to call my boss. Let him know why I disappeared without notice.” 

“Alright, _one_ more call. Then you get yourself ready for breakfast.” She looks up the number, dials it, and again hands the phone over to Dean. 

“Singer Salvage,” a gruff voice answers. 

“Bobby,” Dean says, not even sure what he should say next.

“Dean!?” the voice says, surprised, “what the hell happened, boy? I’ve been worried sick about you!”

“What?” Dean asks, stunned, “you’ve been _worried_ about me?”

“Of course I have, yeh idjit! I know it’s not like you to disappear without a word.” Suddenly Dean feels a catch in his throat. He hadn’t once thought that his boss would be _worried_ about him. For some reason it had never occurred to him that Bobby might _care_ about him. 

“Now, where the heck are you? I was this close to filing a missing person’s report.” He really doesn’t sound angry like Dean had expected, only relieved. 

“I,” Dean begins, fearing that he’s going to start to cry which is absolutely the last thing he wants to do, “I’m in the hospital.” Quickly, Dean adds, “I’m fine! I’m gonna be fine, just not sure how long they’re gonna keep me.” 

“Jesus, Dean!” Bobby replies, “what happened? I’ve been calling your house and your cell phone, and no one’s picking up either line.”

“I’m sorry, Bobby. I’m sorry; I should have called you sooner, it’s just been so…” Dean trails off fighting the tears in his eyes.

“Boy, you tell me the truth now, are you really okay?” For a moment Dean thinks _this_ must be what a dad is supposed to be, and that just starts the goddamn waterworks.

“Yes and no,” Dean sniffs, wiping his eyes hastily.

“Damnit, Dean, you stubborn S.O.B.,” Bobby says warmly, “what happened?”

“I, uh, I did something stupid. I - _shit_ , sorry, this is just hard,” Dean struggles to say, “I… I took… um…”

“Come on, spit it out, boy.”

“I OD’ed on pills,” Dean says quickly and quietly. For a minute, Bobby sits in stunned silence on the other end of the line. “It was a mistake.”

“Are you telling me it was an accident, or are you saying you meant to, but it was a mistake?”

“Yeah. The second one,” Dean admits. 

“Shit.” Dean can hear Bobby let out a long, deep breath. “Dean, if you were havin’ some sort of trouble, some kinda problems at home or whatever, I wish you’d told me.” This is not how Dean had expected this conversation to go at all.

“Sorry,” Dean says softly, “didn’t realize you cared.”

“‘Course I care,” Bobby says, exasperated, “thought you knew me better than that!”

“So, you’ll take me back when I get outta here, whenever that is?” Dean asks hopefully.

“You bet. You take care of yourself now, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean replies with the ghost of a smile.

“And if you’re ever in trouble, if you ever need anything, Dean, you call me, okay?”

“Okay, I will,” Dean promises.

“Good. You got people who care about you, son. I wanna hear from you again soon, you got that?” 

“Yeah, I got it, thanks, Bobby,” Dean says before handing the phone back to Missouri. 

“All better? You think you can focus on yourself for a while now?” Missouri asks, eyeing Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean says, “thanks, Missouri, really.”

* * *

As Dean washes his face, looking up at himself in the mirror, he finds that for once, he doesn’t hate what he sees. His conversation with Bobby has planted a small seed of hope in his chest, hope that just maybe, everything will work itself out. At least he knows he’ll have one job waiting for him when he gets out. He doesn’t care about the gas station. That place sucks anyway, and he can always find another one, or maybe Bobby could find more work for him. Either way, when he runs into Cas in the hallway on the way to breakfast, he is able to greet him with a smile. It’s times like these that let Dean tell himself that maybe the demons are only bad dreams after all.

“Hey, Cas!” Dean says as Castiel emerges from his room, yawning. He doesn’t look like he slept at all that night. 

“Oh, uh, hi, Dean,” Cas replies with a tired smile. “You look, uh, better…” he adds before he can think, and his cheeks burn bright red. 

“Heh, thanks. Sorry I can’t say the same about you,” Dean teases, “you get any sleep last night?”

“Not really. Do I really look _that bad?_ ”

“No, man, I’m just kidding around. You do look tired though.”

“I’ll live,” Cas shrugs. “Heading to breakfast?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yep,” Cas smiles. It’s a good look on him, Dean thinks. 

Trays in hand, the two sit where they had the day before. 

“You do any more drawing yesterday?” Dean asks as he shovels food into his mouth. It’s the first time he’s had any appetite since this whole thing began. 

“Yeah, a little,” Castiel answers, pushing his food around with his fork more than actually eating it. 

“Cool. Wanna see it sometime,” Dean says. 

“Really?”

“Yeah! That okay?”

“Of course. I’ve just… no one’s ever cared about it before. Well, except Missouri, and Gabe, before he moved out.” 

“Well, I think it’s cool,” Dean replies, “and I could use more distraction in this place.” Dean likes the way this makes Cas smile again. “Hey, what all do you have on your iPod?” Dean asks, noticing it on the table next to Castiel’s tray. 

“Oh, mostly just The Beatles,” Castiel says, blushing again, “and a little Chuck Berry.”

“Cool. No modern pop?”

“Nah, I guess I like ‘old people’ music,” Cas admits. 

“Nothin’ wrong with that! My mom liked The Beatles. _Hey, Jude_ always reminds me of her. Anyway, I’m pretty sure they quit making good music after ‘79,” Dean jokes and Castiel laughs. “You listen to any Zeppelin?”

“Not really,” Cas says. 

“What about Black Sabbath? Or AC/DC?”

“No,” Cas sighs, “my parents _barely_ let The Beatles into the house. You know, the _‘evils of rock and roll,’_ blah, blah, blah…” Castiel rolls his eyes, and Dean laughs. 

“Well, I would just _love_ to corrupt your virgin ears,” Dean jokes, winking suggestively. 

“And _I_ would just _love_ to corrupt your virgin… everything else,” adds a girl with curly brown hair and a mischievous grin, ruffling Castiel’s hair with her fingers. “Shove over, angel,” she says next, bumping Cas with her hip until he scoots over so she can sit next to him. 

“Yes, please sit down,” Cas says sarcastically through gritted teeth, “we weren’t in the middle of a conversation or anything.” 

“Oh, Cassie, always so chipper!” she says before training her eyes on Dean. “Well, hello there,” she says, raking her eyes up and down his body. “Oh, you got a little something right… there,” she says, leaning forward and brushing her thumb slowly across Dean’s lower lip. If he weren’t so surprised, he may have been a little turned on. “I’m Meg, by the way,” she adds, bringing the same thumb to her own lips. She looks like a lioness staring down her prey. 

“Oh. My. _God,_ ” Castiel groans. “You are … I just… I have no words.”

“Aww, don’t be jealous, baby,” she pouts at Cas, “the offer still stands, you know…” She runs the back of her hand down the side of his cheek. 

“Meg!” Castiel warns, glaring at her. Dean is still frozen in place, his mouth agape. 

“Oh,” she says, turning back to Dean as if he had asked her what “the offer” was. “I offered to take care of that pesky virginity of his,” she says nodding at Cas. “I think I could turn him if he’d give me a go at it,” she says with a wolfish grin. Castiel looks like he wants to crawl under the table. 

“Might be worth a shot,” Dean shrugs, jokingly to Cas. 

“Yeah, a shot of penicillin, maybe,” Castiel grumbles, still glaring. 

“Ooh, burn… no pun intended,” Meg laughs before turning back to Dean. “I may be a nymphomaniac, but I’m clean, baby,” she purrs, and Dean jumps when he suddenly feels her foot running up his leg. 

“Ugh, Meg, cut it out! I thought you said you were a _pyro_ maniac, anyway,” Castiel says accusingly. 

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive, you know,” she says casually. 

“Uh, I’m Dean,” Dean says finally. 

“I know,” Meg replies flippantly. “Are you single?”

“What?” he says dumbly. 

“Do you have a girlfriend? Or maybe you’re into guys? Huh?” she asks, rolling her eyes in Castiel’s direction. 

“You don’t have to answer that!” Castiel interjects as if he is Dean’s defense lawyer. “Please ignore her.” Dean laughs. He feels a little bad for Cas, but the whole thing is pretty funny, really. 

“It’s alright, Cas,” Dean says, “you know I’m an open book… except when I’m not. And right now I’m in the mood to keep you guessing,” he adds, winking at Meg. 

“Well, when you make up your mind, Dean,” she says, flashing her best bedroom eyes at him, “come and find me.”

“I would advise against that,” Castiel grumbles, “she _will_ figure out where you live, and she _will_ burn your house down.” Dean snorts a laugh at this. 

“Not fair, Clarence! I’ve never burnt a house down; the firefighters have always gotten there in time.”

“Well, just give me notice so I can get Sammy, my record collection, and Baby out of there, and make sure my dad is drunk and preferably asleep, and then you can have at it,” Dean smirks. 

“Baby?” Castiel asks, seeming mildly alarmed. 

“My one true love,” Dean says dreamily, and the color drains from Cas’s face. Meg, on the other hand, looks disgusted. “She’s gorgeous! Black and chrome. Fixed her up myself. ‘67 Chevy Impala.”

“Oh!” Castiel laughs, and Dean can’t help but think he looks _relieved._

“Praise Satan!” Meg exclaims, “I _don’t do_ guys with kids!” She makes a gagging sound. “You had me worried for a sec.” Castiel rolls his eyes. “Your ‘baby’ got a big backseat?” Meg asks next, biting her lip. 

“Oh, _for fuck’s sake!_ ” Castiel curses. Dean just laughs, thoroughly amused. 

“For _fuck’s_ sake, indeed,” Meg replies with a smirk before adding, “oh, lighten up, Castiel, it’s not like you weren’t wondering the same thing.” At this, Dean turns to Cas, who quickly averts his gaze, blushing furiously. Dean wonders if it’s true. Is Castiel interested in him like that? 

“Well?” Meg prompts again. 

“ _Well,_ actually, yeah,” Dean answers, “I’ve slept in her a number of times.”

“Aww, all by yourself?” Meg asks with mock pity. “Really though, how many people have you fucked in there?”

 _“Meg!”_ Castiel gasps at the same time Dean chokes on the water he was trying to drink. 

“ _What,_ Castiel?” Meg asks irritably, “ _someone_ had to ask, and hell knows you’re too shy to ever do it. You’ll just sit here like a lovesick puppy dog, like you always do. Really, I’m doing you a favor.” Meg ruffles his hair as Castiel looks like he’s trying his best to teleport elsewhere, his expression a mix of fury and humiliation. 

“Well, this has been fun,” Cas says, standing quickly without looking at Dean, “but I better get going…” 

“Cassie, come on!” Meg calls after him, but shrugs, turning back to Dean when Castiel doesn’t respond and disappears through the door. 

“What didja do that to him for?” Dean asks, irritated. 

“What?” Meg says nonchalantly. “He’s just too sensitive. He’d never tell you himself.”

“Tell me what?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb, baby,” Meg says, narrowing her eyes, “you know you’re hot, I can see it in that cocky-ass grin, and you know Cassie’s into dudes, so…” Dean frowns, wanting to argue that he _isn’t_ cocky, that she doesn’t have the slightest clue what he thinks about himself, but he doesn’t. 

“Cas only knows me a little better than you do, which is not at all.”

“Oh, please. You _know_ he just lays there all night thinking about you, jerking himself off, wishing it was you.” This time Dean turns bright red, his heart racing a little. He doesn’t know why this is getting to him.

“He, uh, he told you that, did he?” Dean says, clearing his throat, trying to sound skeptical. 

“Not _exactly,_ ” she says, rolling her eyes, “but I can tell.”

“Hmph.”

“Come on, Dean!” Meg groans, “it’s _so boring_ in here. Play with me!”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dean smirks, “you’re so covered in red flags, I could see you from a mile away.” And Dean stands, heading for the door and leaving Meg on her own. 

“You know where to find me when you change your mind!” she calls after him shamelessly.

* * *

Dean walks down the hall towards Castiel’s room, hoping he’s in there. Hesitantly, he knocks on the door. Slowly, he hears Castiel groan and walk to the door, opening it a crack. 

“Dean?” Cas says, sounding surprised. 

“Yeah. Uh, can I come in?” Dean asks softly. 

“Okay,” Castiel says, opening the door fully, but he won’t make eye contact. Dean steps into the room, glancing around. Cas has taped drawings up all over his walls. Most of the drawings seem to be of a young Paul McCartney, but there are others too. Dean steps closer to inspect an intricately drawn flower with a honey bee landing on it.

“Did you draw all these?” Dean asks, impressed. 

“Yeah,” Cas affirms softly, staring down at his feet. 

“Awesome. Dude, seriously, you could sell these,” Dean says, looking at another drawing of a bee. 

“Thanks.” Cas is clearly uncomfortable, despite Dean’s attempts at lightening the mood. 

“Uh, Cas? You okay? Did I say something wrong?” Dean asks, looking over at Castiel. 

“No,” Cas says quietly, “to both questions.”

“You, uh, wanna, like, uh _talk_ about it?” Dean struggles, nearly choking on the words. He’s so bad at this. But Castiel actually looks at him again with the hint of a smile.

“You still want to talk to me?” Cas asks shyly. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “listen, I uh, was having a hard time last night, and… it was nice having someone there. Was nice talking to you.” Castiel smiles broadly like he can’t help himself. “So, if I can ever return the favor…” Dean trails off. 

“Thanks, Dean,” Cas replies. “It’s stupid, really, I was just… Meg always embarrasses me. I mean, we’re kind of friends I guess. She’s fun sometimes, but she’s pretty irritating too.” Dean laughs softly. 

“Yeah, I can see that,” he grins. “She really _will_ burn my house down, huh?” And then Castiel is laughing. 

“Yeah, she’s a little crazy.”

 _“A little?”_ Dean asks skeptically. “Pretty sure she’s full on bat-shit crazy.” 

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Castiel agrees. 

“Anyway, as I was saying before Meg crashed our table, you should really give Zeppelin a listen, and Sabbath.” Cas smiles gratefully at him, looking relieved that Dean didn’t bring up any of what Meg had actually said. “And maybe you can share some music with me. I know the Beatles, of course, but not real well.”

“Yes, definitely, I would like that,” Castiel agrees. And with that, the two sit together on Castiel’s bed, chatting about music, Castiel’s art, and Dean’s Baby until it is time for their respective private sessions. 

“See you at lunch?” Dean asks casually before he turns to leave for his meeting. 

“Yeah, definitely,” Cas replies. The smile on Castiel’s face gives Dean a feeling of warmth all over. He can’t remember the last time he really felt like he’d “made a friend,” but it feels good to think maybe he has now.


	10. Highway to Hell

“Hey, Missouri?”

“Hi, Castiel, how are you doing?” Missouri smiles fondly at him.

“Pretty good, actually,” Cas smiles shyly.

“Well, that’s great to hear!”

“I was just wondering if I could put some new music on my iPod,” Castiel says softly.

“Of course, sugar,” Missouri answers, scooting over so Castiel can take a seat in front of the computer.

“You already put The Beatles’ discography on there though, right?”

“Yeah,” Cas says as he plugs in his iPod, “got every song they ever did, even the two in German.” 

“Trying something new?” Missouri asks cheerfully.

“Yeah. Got a few recommendations from a friend.”

“Well, that’s nice,” Missouri says before returning to the paperwork she had been filling out, allowing Castiel to focus on his music. Dean had recommended _Travellin’ Riverside Blues_ and _Ramble On_ , both by Led Zeppelin, so he starts with the two albums those are on, deciding to add _Led Zeppelin IV_ too, because it has _Stairway to Heaven_ on it, which is the one Zeppelin song he is already familiar with. Next, he adds a compilation album: _Black Sabbath: Greatest Hits 1970-1978_. Lastly, he adds _Highway to Hell_ and _Back in Black_ by AC/DC. That should give him enough to explore for the next few days.

“ _Highway to Hell? Black Sabbath?_ ” Missouri asks incredulously, glancing over Castiel’s shoulder. “Oh, sugar, your parents aren’t gonna be happy about those,” she adds with a sigh.

“Good,” Castiel says defiantly. “I mean, really, are they happy about _anything_?”

“Oh, Castiel,” she sighs again, “I guess you have a point there.” 

“Thanks again, Missouri,” Castiel says as he unplugs his iPod and turns to walk toward his room.

“Castiel?” Missouri says before he gets too far, “does this have anything to do with Dean Winchester?” Castiel freezes in his tracks, turning back toward her.

“Um, yeah, actually,” he admits, “we’ve been talking about music.”

“That’s great, Castiel. I’m glad you have found someone to talk to.”

“I sense a ‘but’ in there,” Castiel says, tilting his head. Missouri sighs, smiling wistfully.

“Just be careful, sugar,” she says a little sadly.

“ _Be careful?_ ” Castiel questions, “what does that mean?”

“You know, we encourage interaction with other patients, but you do need to keep your focus on your own progress, and it can become detrimental to become too close with another patient. And it goes without saying that romantic relationships of any kind are forbidden.” Castiel can feel his cheeks turning bright red.

“We’re just friends,” Castiel rushes to say, “I mean, we’ve only known each other for like a day and a half… anyway, why didn’t you warn me about Meg when you saw us talking? Why is Dean different?”

“Castiel, you’re smart enough to know the answer to that question. _And_ I think you’re smart enough to keep Meg from getting you into any sort of trouble,” she adds with a grin. 

“What? Because Dean is a guy?” Castiel asks with his brow furrowed.

“Because Dean is a _cute_ boy, and I don’t worry about you getting overly attached to Meg,” Missouri says, raising an eyebrow at him. Castiel blushes furiously once again. “I remember what it was like at your age,” Missouri says knowingly, “hormones all a rage, and all that…” 

“Ugh,” Castiel says dramatically, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t you roll those baby blues at me, young man!” Missouri teases. “Just use your common sense, Castiel.”

“You know I will,” Cas says with a shrug.

“Alright then. Have a good night, sugar.”

“Thanks, you too,” Castiel replies with a smile before making his way back down the hall to his room. He doesn’t see Missouri shaking her head as she watches him go.

* * *

As he approaches his door, Dean is actually waiting for him, leaning against his own door frame. Castiel tries hard not to smile too broadly, but he can’t help smiling a little. Dean, however, looks distraught. 

“Cas,” Dean says, looking up when he hears Castiel’s footsteps approaching, “hey, I know we’ve only got about half an hour before ‘lights out,’ but, uh, you wanna come over for a few?” Dean looks hopeful, like he is really hoping Cas will say “yes.”

“Sure,” Castiel replies, again trying his best to seem casual, like a regular friend who _isn’t_ harboring a huge crush on Dean. He follows Dean into his room, taking a seat at the foot of the bed as he had before. Dean slumps against the wall next to him on the bed, closer than before.

“Are you alright, Dean? Did you get to talk to Sam?” Cas asks softly, knowing that Dean was anxious to hear from his brother after the injury.

“Yeah,” Dean answers. “Dad _still_ hasn’t showed up at home since the whole thing happened, so Sammy’s alright for now. He made it to school and everything, all on his own. Said he’s having a rough time writing though. That motherfucker had to break Sammy’s right wrist, the one he uses to do everything.” Dean sighs angrily, burying his face in both hands for a moment, collecting himself. “You know, Cas, if he’d ever hurt Sammy in front of me, I’d probably be in prison for murder right now.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re not in prison,” Cas says. “Sorry Sam’s got it so tough right now. It’s great he’s getting himself to school though. I don’t think I’d be that strong.”

“Sammy’s smart. He knows how important school is, and he’s only in the seventh grade. And it gives him something to focus on, you know? While everything else is falling apart.” Cas nods. “You know what he told me though?” Dean asks, looking up into Castiel’s eyes, and Cas can see the pain in Dean’s gaze, clear as day.

“What?” Cas asks gently.

“Said he’s been sleeping in the backseat of my car. Said he can’t go into our bedroom alone.” Dean sounds like he’s on the brink of crying. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. Castiel doesn’t know what to say to that. 

“I’m sorry, Cas, I should be talking like this to the shrink, right? Probably shouldn’t be putting all this shit on you.”

“No,” Cas says reassuringly, “I really don’t mind listening. I’m just sorry I don’t have much insight to give.” Dean smiles wistfully at him.

“Thanks. I appreciate that. You’re a good listener.”

“Yeah. Listening is easy; talking, I struggle with,” Cas says, laughing softly.

“Well, I ain’t usually great at talking either. Anyway, you ever talk to your family from here?”

“Nah,” Cas shrugs, “they’re all too self-absorbed to bother calling, and I don’t have any desire to speak to any of them anyway. Well, except Gabe, but I know he’s busy with school, so I don’t bother him.”

“How old are your siblings anyway?” Dean asks, “I’m assuming Gabe is older?”

“Yeah. Lucifer’s the oldest; he’s 27. Then Michael, 25. Gabe is 22 and just got into law school. Anael is 18. Then there’s me; I’m 16, by the way. And I think I mentioned before, Raph is two. I think he’ll be three pretty soon, but I’m horrible with dates. All I know is Raph is the _miracle baby_ because mom was 42 when he was born, and I’m pretty sure they think God ‘sent’ him as a replacement for me, since, you know, I’m a ‘failure’ in their eyes.” 

“Jesus Christ, Cas,” Dean says, shaking his head. “My dad is an evil sonofabitch, but I can’t say your parents sound a whole lot better. But you said Gabe is an alright guy?”

“Yeah, he’s cool. I mean, he likes to ‘party’ as he puts it, but he’d stand up for me when I was little and Michael and Anael would be harassing me. And he’s the only one who believes I didn’t _choose_ to be gay. He actually accepts me. I miss him, but I’m happy for him, getting away from everyone.”

“You said he’s in law school?”

“Yeah. Harvard, actually. He jokes that he can’t believe they let an ‘idiot’ like him in. I mean, it doesn’t hurt that dad has ‘connections’ there or whatever, but Gabe is actually really smart, so I’m not surprised.”

“No, shit. Harvard? Wow. What are you doing talking to me?” Dean jokes.

“What are you talking about?” Cas asks, narrowing his eyes at Dean.

“Your brother is going to freakin’ _Harvard_ because your dad has ‘connections’ there, and you’re sitting here talking to me: a piece of fuckin’ white trash who couldn’t even make it through junior year.”

“Fuck you, Dean,” Cas says, half joking, and half actually angry. Dean looks surprised, to say the least. “Don’t act like I’m somehow ‘better’ than you because my shitty family has money or ‘connections’ or whatever. I’m sick of being treated like my family somehow reflects on who _I_ am, like their money makes me special or something. Unless I ‘repent’ and magically turn straight, I’m going to be cut out of the will anyway. If I were to somehow meet a guy I liked and actually try to have a relationship, I’d be cut off immediately, so please don’t think I’m benefitting from their money. They’ve basically given me a choice: the money, or my happiness, whatever that may be; I haven’t found it yet.”

“I’m sorry, Cas, I didn’t mean to… I was just kidding around. I like you; I mean, what I said, I just feel like you _are_ better than me. Not ‘cause of your parents having money or anything like that, just ‘cause you’re talented, and you aren’t here because you fucked up in a colossal way. Sorry; that’s all I meant.” And Castiel suddenly feels like shit for snapping the way he did. 

“No, I’m sorry. I overreacted. It’s just a touchy subject I guess,” Cas says, sneaking a peek at Dean’s face. “But I promise you, I’m no better than you. Only reason I haven’t tried to off myself is because at my lowest point, that would have involved dragging myself out of bed. That, and I’m too scared to try anything like that. It’s not because I’m smarter than you or whatever.” Dean smiles sadly at him. “Oh, and I like you too,” Cas adds, feeling his cheeks flush.

“Pfft, _lame!_ ” Dean teases him, and Castiel blushes harder but laughs too. “Anyway, you know you’d be right to choose your happiness over the money. If I had to choose between having money or being with someone I love, I’d choose being with that person.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And you know, Gabe’s the only one who’s right about you, right? I don’t think it matters whether you’re into guys or girls, or both.”

“Really?”

“What do you mean, ‘really?’” Dean scoffs with a grin, “Of course. If Sammy told me he liked guys, I wouldn’t love him any less. I’m sure dad would keel over, but he’s a piece of shit anyway.”

“Thanks,” Cas says softly before working up the nerve to ask what he’s been dying to know. “So, uh, you never did answer Meg’s question: _are_ you in a relationship?” Dean snorts.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Dean laughs, “I’ll tell you if you promise not to tell _her_. I don’t need a stalker in my life.”

“I promise,” Cas laughs.

“I’m single. Haven’t really dated since dropping outta school. Don’t really meet many people working at the scrap yard. Couple of hook-ups, sure, but nothing where I ever saw the chick again. You?” And with that, Castiel’s hopes were first raised and then dashed, like a boat tossed upon the rocks by a wave. “Cas?” Dean repeats when Castiel fails to answer the question.

“Oh, uh, no,” Cas stutters, “no dating _or_ hook-ups. Private Christian school isn’t exactly a great place to meet guys.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Dean shrugs. “Have you ever, though?” Cas shakes his head, embarrassed. “Not even a quickie?” Dean presses further, and Cas wishes he’d just drop it. 

“No,” Cas says quietly, hanging his head. 

_“Really?”_ Dean asks, and Cas has to fight the urge to snap at him, exasperated. 

“Why do you seem so surprised?” Cas counters, a bit of an edge in his voice, “or are you _trying_ to make me feel even shittier?”

“Oh, no!” Dean backs off hurriedly, “I didn’t mean it like that. Just, you’re a good looking guy, so I was surprised is all.” Dean seems sincere. 

“Oh,” Cas replies sheepishly, “sorry.” 

“Don’t gotta apologize,” Dean says calmly, “you don’t got to answer all my questions.” Dean quirks a smile. 

“Oh, well, I don’t mind. Just used to being fucked with, I guess. But, hey,” Cas says, “ I got some new music to listen to.” He tosses his iPod to Dean so he can scroll through the track lists. 

“Awesome!” Dean replies enthusiastically, “these are great!”

“Missouri thinks it’ll piss off my parents,” Cas smirks. 

“Well, that’s sort of the point of rock ‘n roll, right?” Dean laughs, “well, one of the points. You think she’s gonna tell on you?”

“No, I doubt it,” Cas says, “I mean, they have to report important things to our parents, but I doubt this counts.”

Just then, Missouri knocks on the doorframe. 

“Time for bed, boys,” she says softly. Dean tosses the iPod back to Cas. 

“Night, Cas,” Dean says as Castiel hops up. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” he replies, “night, Missouri.” And he crosses the hall, shutting himself inside his room to, no doubt, mull over their conversation for hours.

* * *

Cas lays back on his bed after flipping the lights off, and it suddenly occurs to him that Dean had called him a _good looking guy._ He feels his heart speed up a bit, but tells himself Dean had _also_ talked about hooking up with chicks, so he was probably just trying to be nice. _But,_ Castiel thinks, he _could_ be bi or something. It’s possible. Probable? No. And Cas knows he already has enough problems; he doesn’t need to be pining after one more guy who isn’t into him… but oh, what wouldn’t he give for Dean to want him too? He can’t think of anything he would rather have than for Dean to kiss him, to offer to run away with him, just the two of them on their own, and… shit! He’s doing it again. He does this _every damn time!_ Cas will become obsessed with some guy, and his feelings are _never_ returned. Unrequited love fucking sucks. 

So Cas jams his earbuds into his ears and slams his head back into his pillow, gazing up into the darkness. _Stairway to Heaven_ plays, its quiet, iconic introduction easing his mind a little. He’s heard the song before, and maybe it’s just because he knows it’s Dean’s favorite band, but it occurs to him this time that Robert Plant’s voice is _sexy._ Then he curses and wishes he could do one goddamn thing _without_ thinking about sex. 

But that just isn't gonna happen. As Zeppelin's tempo picks up, Cas can't help but think about Dean. Dean's probably a good kisser, not that Cas would know anything about that, but still... He wonders what it might be like, undressing each other in the backseat of Dean's car. Probably amazing, except, Cas figures, he'd probably ruin it somehow with his inexperience. Ugh. These thoughts chase themselves around Cas's head all the way through Led Zeppelin IV and half way through Sabbath's Greatest Hits before Cas finally falls asleep amid extreme sexual frustration.


	11. Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this is completely unrelated to this story, but I just watched the latest episode(15), and OMG, I would totally watch a spin-off that was just Cas and Jack solving murders. Like _Touched By an Angel_ meets _CSI_. Anyone with me?! I really want to see more of Special Agents Swift and Lovato. 😂😂😂
> 
> Haha, anyway without further ado...

Dean struggles, his body paralyzled by a force unknown to him. Figures come into view, their eyes gazing at him, taunting him from the depths of their inky blackness. He tries to scream, but can produce no sound as the figures draw nearer, laughing at his panicked state of mind.

"Yes, Dean, writhe and squirm like the pathetic worm you are," a cruel voice resonates in his head, emanating from the female figure closest to him. "You can cover yourself in ink, and you can talk with your therapist all day long, but you can't hold us off. We know you better than you know yourself. We know your weaknesses, and there are so many! We will _always_ find you, Dean."

Dean squeezes his eyes shut, desperately murmuring to himself, _“wake up, wake up! You're dreaming; wake up!"_

"Sure Dean, go ahead and wake up. Why don't you give that a try?" The voice is all too familiar, sending a cold hopelessness down his spine. He manages to open his eyes and finds himself back in his bed, in his room in the hospital. Maybe it _was_ just a dream. But he is afraid to look anywhere that isn't straight up at the ceiling.

"Aww, why won't you look at me, Dean?" a voice mock-pouts, and terror once again seizes him, his body going rigid. Slowly, he shifts his gaze to the window, which is backlighting the all too familiar dark figure, the figure that has haunted him for as long as he can remember.

"Was that so hard?" it sneers.

"Why are you here?" Dean rasps, voice low and hoarse.

"Why am I ever?" it replies, and the figure takes a step closer, turning its yellow eyes on Dean. "Maybe you should tell your shrink about us... or are you still afraid they'll all think you're crazy? Well, you're not crazy... just weak. Cowardly and weak."

"Shut up and leave me alone," Dean says through gritted teeth. The figure laughs, taking another step closer.

"I don't think I will," it replies, "this is more fun. Hey, Dean, remember when you told your dad? That was fun!"

"Shut up!" Dean nearly shouts.

"Maybe you should tell that cutie across the hall..."

"Fuck you," Dean grits out, a new wave of panic flooding through him.

"Maybe I should pay him a visit. You seem to be getting close."

"Leave Cas out of whatever this is," Dean demands, though his throat is so tight and mouth so dry that his voice falls far short of commanding.

"Hmm. We'll see about that..." the voice says tauntingly. The next time Dean blinks, the figure is gone, and he is once again alone in his bed, drenched in cold sweat. He is definitely awake. That wasn't a dream.

He lays in bed pondering what the demon had said. That's what they are: demons. He knows that. This particular demon is very familiar to him. There have been others, but He was the first. He was there that night their mom died. Dean knows it wasn't an electrical fire; Dean saw Him standing there amid the flames.

The first time Dean mentioned this to his father, John had told the then four year old Dean that he had only imagined it. The second time Dean brought it up, he was six, and John told him not to talk about that night again. When he was nine, Dean had a nightmare about flames and yellow eyes. That time, John was angry. He told Dean to grow up, to "quit crying and act like a man for once." Only idiots believe in shit like that, his father had told him. The visitations began soon after that.

The last time Dean attempted to speak with his father about anything of import, he had been ten years old. He was so nervous, his hands had been trembling as he hesitantly approached John.

"Um, dad?" Dean asked softly.

"What?" John said, his eyes remaining fixed on the television.

"I wanna tell you something." John groaned, but turned the volume down, fixing weary eyes on his young son.

"What is it now, Dean?" he asked wearily.

"l've been having weird dreams... well, sorta dreams..." Dean stammered.

"Weird dreams?" John asked, exasperated.

"Well, not exactly," Dean murmured.

"Well, what, then?" John huffed, "come on and spit it out."

"It's like dreams, but l'm awake," Dean said quietly, eyes fixed on his own feet.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" John asked, clearly irritated.

"It's... well, it's the guy I saw during the... in the fire... that I had dreams about. But now he talks to me when I'm awake." When Dean chanced a glance at his father, the look on his face was one of unadulterated horror and disgust.

"Quit playing games, Dean, it ain't funny," John said coldly.

"I'm not," Dean replied nervously, "I'm telling the truth."

"Are you trying to tell me that you're seein' shit that ain't there?" John spat, his temper rising, "as if this family don't have enough problems?"

"I... I don't think so," Dean stammered.

"Well, what?"

"I dunno... dad, I'm scared," Dean began to break down, tears forming in his eyes. The visitations had become an almost nightly occurrence, and he didn't know what to do, who to tell.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Dean," John growled, "how many times do we gotta go over your fuckin' nightmares? I told you that shit ain't real; you gotta grow up."

"I told you, it's not nightmares!" Dean finally burst out, scared and frustrated.

"You're not making any sense, son," John replied with a tired sigh.

"It's a demon," Dean blurted out then, "he killed Mom, and he said he'll hurt Sammy next!" Tears were rolling down Dean's face then, and he couldn't bring himself to look at his father.

"What have I told you about talking about _that_ night?" John shouted then, rising to his feet. "You're not a baby, Dean. and I shouldn't have to tell you that demons aren't real! A goddamn demon didn't start that fire; _you_ did!”

Suddenly, Dean was flat on his back, his cheek burning where John's palm had made contact.

"Now, are you crazy, or are you a fucking liar?" John spat at him.

"I'm not lying," Dean whimpered, and his father lunged forward, pulling him to his feet by the front of his shirt.

"So you're crazy?" John sneered.

"No..." Dean gasped, terrified.

"Well you gotta be one of the two," John growled at him. "If you ain't lying to me, you're a fucking lunatic, and you know I don't got the time or money to deal with that."

Dean bit his lip, nodding almost imperceptibly as tears rolled down his burning cheeks.

"So I suggest you drop this whole fucking 'demon' idea and _never_ bring it up again. You hear me, boy?" John spat, releasing Dean roughly from his grip.

"Yessir," Dean whispered hoarsely, his body trembling like a leaf before a storm.

"Good," John huffed, collapsing on the couch and cracking open another beer as his son scurried from the room.

In his bedroom, Dean crawled under his blanket, burying his face in his pillow before allowing himself to sob freely, alone and more terrified and confused than ever before.

After that, Dean knew he was on his own; his dad wasn't going to protect him, and he doubted anyone else would believe him either. He began researching, reading everything about demons he could get his hands on. It wasn't easy; the library didn't have much, and the internet was relatively new, and mostly unavailable to him. Eventually he found a small group of people around town with occult interests, and by his sixteenth birthday he was beginning the collection of tattoos that adorn his body now.

* * *

"Dean?" a soft voice asks tentatively, and Dean's eyes flutter open, revealing to him that it is daylight. He must have fallen back to sleep after all.

"Cas?" Dean asks blearily.

"Yeah, uh, sorry," the boy says, taking a small step into the room. "It's just, it's getting kinda late. Didn't think you'd wanna miss breakfast." Cas's cheeks flush pink as he speaks.

"Oh," Dean says, pushing himself up to sitting, wincing as he unwitting puts pressure on his wounded hand. "Thanks."

At breakfast, Cas excitedly tells him about the different albums he had listened to the night before. Dean does his damnedest to share in Castiel's enthusiasm, but it is obvious that his mind is elsewhere.

"Are you alright, Dean?" Castiel asks after a while.

"I... well, I didn't sleep great last night," Dean replies honestly. "Just worried about a lot of stuff, I guess."

"Your brother?" Cas asks softly.

"Yeah, that's a big part of it," Dean replies, and Cas gives him an understanding look before his eyes widen.

"Uh, Dean, your hand's bleeding," Castiel says suddenly.

"Oh," Dean says numbly, glancing down at his palm where fresh blood is visible, seeping through the gauze.

"What happened? Are you okay?" Castiel's obvious concern actually makes him feel a little warm inside, but he replies casually.

"Yeah, it's fine. Just busted a stitch yesterday." Castiel still looks concerned, but he nods his head.

"Maybe you should see Missouri," Cas suggests.

"Meh. I'm sure it'll stop on its own," Dean shrugs.

* * *

After breakfast, the two walk back toward their rooms. It's Saturday, so they have a little more free time today.

"Um, are you sure you're alright?" Cas asks as they reach their doors, gazing shyly at Dean. Dean tries to shrug off the question again, but fails, shaking his head in admission.

"Wanna come in?" Cas asks then, softly, and Dean manages a weak nod. He slumps to a seat on the edge of Castiel's bed and to his horror, has instant tears in his eyes. His face reddens as he fights the tears, humiliated by his own lack of control.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," Dean mutters, averting his eyes and burying his face in his hands. Eventually he feels a weight settle beside him on the bed. Then, to his utmost surprise, he feels a tentative hand on his shoulder.

* * *

Castiel struggles to keep his hand steady on Dean's shoulder, hoping his palm doesn't sweat through Dean's shirt.

"It's okay, Dean," Cas says quietly, "I can't imagine how you're dealing with all the shit you've got going on." He can feel Dean take a deep, shuddering breath.

"And you don't know the half of it, Cas," Dean murmurs at a volume Cas can hardly register.

"You can tell me," Castiel replies, trying desperately to keep his own voice even and neutral. "I won't tell anyone," he adds. Dean raises his eyes then to meet his gaze, and Cas can see a terror and desperation there that squeezes at his heart and sparks a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"I dunno, Cas," Dean says quietly, his voice shaking, betraying the depth of his fear, "last time I told anyone, it didn't go so good." Cas wants to know now, almost feels like he _needs_ to know. All the while, the tone of Dean's voice scares him some. "You're just gonna think I'm crazy too," Dean chokes.

"Maybe I won't," Castiel tries to say confidently. "What does it matter what I think anyway?" At this, Dean's eyes flash back up to his own.

"I know it's probably hard to believe," Dean tries to joke, "but I don't got a whole lot of friends... and... I like you; it's nice having someone to talk to, you know?" Castiel feels as though his heart could burst from his chest at any minute, but he fights valiantly to play it cool.

"Yeah, it is nice," Cas agrees. "Gotta say, though, I _do_ find it hard to believe you've ever struggled to make friends. I mean, I've always been a loner. I have a hard time talking to most people, but you... you seem so confident."

"Doesn't seem like you have a hard time talking to me," Dean says softly, and Cas can feel his face heating up.

"You're not most people," Cas admits, his cheeks burning.

"What're you tryin' to say?" Dean asks almost as if he's hoping for a specific answer.

"You're different," Cas struggles to explain, " ... in a good way."

"Whatever," Dean deflects with a shrug, unable to take anything resembling a compliment. "I'm sure I could manage to scare you off."

"Try me," Cas challenges. Dean's gaze falls then to Castiel's hand on his shoulder, and Cas quickly moves it. "Sorry," he murmurs.

"Nothin' to be sorry for," Dean says before taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly. "Cas," he says next, looking up into those deep blue eyes, "I see demons."

Castiel isn't sure he heard right. "What do you mean?" he asks, confused.

"Like, demons come to me, tell me shit, make threats... that must sound batshit, huh?" Dean pauses, looking embarrassed, and Cas could kick himself for being able to do nothing but stare, wide-eyed at Dean's pained expression. "See, I knew you'd think I'm a fuckin' psycho," Dean rushes to say, voice threatening to crack as he moves to stand and make a quick exit, but Castiel manages to snap himself out of it and reaches out, catching Dean's forearm before he gets too far.

"Wait!" Castiel says softly, "that's not what I think." Dean stares at him for a moment with a look of surprise on his face. "I'm sorry. I'm not good with words sometimes, but I don't think you're a 'psycho.'" Dean slumps back down on the bed beside him. this time, close enough their knees are touching. Dean gives no indication that he objects to the contact, so Cas doesn't let go of his arm either."

"Really?" Dean breathes, and Cas could almost swear that he feels Dean relaxing into him. Cas nods. transfixed by Dean's perfect features, his eyes, the freckles sprinkled across his nose, those lips that he has the innapropriate urge to lean in and kiss. He knows he needs to get a hold of himself. Dean is suddenly so vulnerable, so desperately in need of a friend, and Castiel is ashamed of how unable he is to put his lovesick fantasies aside.

"Do you believe me, Cas?" Dean asks almost hopefully.

"Yes," Castiel answers without hesitation. Whether they are real entities or simply hallucinations, Cas figures he isn't qualified to decide, but Dean is so sincere, the fear in his eyes so real, that Castiel has no doubt that Dean is telling him the truth as he sees it.

"Seriously?" Dean asks again, "I haven't freaked you the fuck out?"

"No," Cas replies softly, "you can tell me more if you want to." And Dean actually _smiles_ at him. It's the most beautiful smile Castiel thinks he has ever seen, and the fact that it's directed at him takes his breath away.

"I've been seein' them since I was a kid. When I finally broke down and told my old man, he smacked the shit out of me- told me I was either a liar or crazy. Never told anyone again." Dean glances sideways at Cas after this admission.

"I don't understand why he hurt you like that," Cas says, squeezing his arm a little. "That's awful."

"I didn't understand it either," Dean replies.

"Fuck," Cas swears, "how old were you?"

"Ten."

"Jesus. I'm sorry," Castiel sighs. He would give anything to be able to wrap his arms around Dean, for Dean to want his arms around him. "It must have been terrifying," he says gently.

"Yeah," Dean admits, swallowing the lump in his throat, "it was."

"Have you thought about talking about it with your therapist?" Castiel asks hesitantly, hoping Dean won't be offended. Dean just shakes his head.

"I can't; she'll just think I'm crazy, and they'll never let me out of here, and I need to get out. Sammy needs me." Dean's voice is trembling again, and he's on the verge of tears.

"I understand," Castiel replies. Slowly, Dean shifts the arm Cas is holding, turning his hand over slowly until it is resting, palm-up, on Castiel's thigh.

Cas isn't sure what to do, doesn't know what Dean is thinking, but something on Dean's wrist catches his eye. He ghosts his fingers over the black ink, just visible beneath the bandages taped in place around Dean's forearm.

"It's Enochian," Dean says quietly.

"Angel language," Castiel recalls, and Dean nods. "What does it say?" Cas asks after a moment, tracing the characters again with his fingers.

"Mary," Dean answers softly, "my mom's name." Cas pauses his tracing to look up at Dean. "Things would be so different if she were still here," Dean says wistfully.

Somehow, Castiel finds himself slipping his hand gently into Dean's, and to his utter surprise, Dean grips it, their fingers lacing together. They sit silently, and Cas has a hard time believing that this is truly happening. Sure, it probably isn't romantic, Cas has to remind himself. Dean probably doesn't begin make-out sessions by talking about his dead mom. Still, it's more than Cas has ever gotten from a boy he's liked. And then Cas is  
shaming himself again for wanting a boyfriend when Dean is simply in need of a friend.

It doesn't last long, however, before there is a sharp rap on the door frame. They both startle violently, quickly releasing their grips on each other.

"Good afternoon, boys," Missouri says sweetly, but Cas has a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Dean, would you mind excusing us so I can speak with Castiel for a moment?" Dean nods mechanically, standing abruptly before crossing the hall to his room. Castiel just stares at the floor, his face burning.

Missouri gently closes the door and takes a seat in the desk chair, facing Cas.

"Oh, sugar," she sighs, clicking her tongue. Cas shifts uncomfortably under her gaze, his eyes remaining fixed on the floor. "Castiel," Missouri sighs again, and Cas begins to grow impatient waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"You wanted to talk to me about something?" he asks finally, innocently.

"Castiel, I know you haven't forgotten the conversation we had last night," Missouri says, shaking her head.

"Yes, I mean, no; I haven't forgotten." Cas replies quietly.

"And you've always been so good about following the rules. You know I have always trusted you, and I've given you as much freedom as I am allowed to give anyone."

"I know," Castiel says. He is frustrated and angry, but he is also saddened by the disappointment in her voice.

"So I would like you to please explain to me what was happening just now."

"What? N-nothing," Castiel stammers, "we were just talking."

"Castiel," Missouri says seriously, "I _know_ you know better than to try and play dumb with me. I saw you holding that young man's hand."

"I..." Castiel stumbles over his words. "It didn't mean anything," he lies; it meant everything to him.

"Mmmhmm," Missouri answers, disbelievingly.

"He... he's worried," Cas murmurs, "I just wanted to help." Suddenly there are tears in his eyes that he can't keep from falling.

"Oh, honey," Missouri sighs, "I know you do. I'm not trying to embarrass you, and you aren't in trouble; I just have to enforce the rules. Unfortunately, I am going to have to ask you and Dean to keep your conversations in common spaces from now on."

"What?" Cas protests, his eyes finally darting up to meet Missouri's gaze, "but we're just friends!"

"Even so, you know that physical contact of any kind is prohibited, whether it is romantic in nature or not. Now, I'm not saying you can't talk to Dean, you just need to keep it out in the open. And if he is having problems, he needs to speak with his therapist about them. I know your heart is in the right place, Castiel, but like everyone else, Dean needs professional help, and you need to focus on yourself." Castiel doesn't argue. Instead, he nods his head sadly, tears continuing to roll down his cheeks.

"Are you gonna tell my parents?" Cas murmurs after a moment.

"Sugar, so long as you and Dean follow the rules, there's nothing to tell," Missouri answers gently. Cas sniffs and wipes his eyes, grateful that at least his parents won't know any of this. "Castiel," she asks kindly, "what are these tears about?" Cas looks up at her with big, watery blue eyes.

"I dunno," he sniffs, "I just... I get so lonely, and he... he treats me like I'm a normal person. Every other guy I know either ignores me completely or treats me like shit; talking to him is nice for a change."

"Castiel, honey, like I said, you can still talk to the boy; you just need to 'leave room for Jesus,' as they say."

"Ugh," Cas groans with an eye-roll.

"Don't you roll those eyes at me, young man!" she laughs as she stands. "Now, are you alright?" Cas nods, though his face betrays his dejection.

"Good. Keep that chin up, sugar. I know everything looks pretty bleak now; growin' up is rough, but it gets better. You're a talented, interesting, sweet, caring young man. Eventually you'll find lots of people who appreciate that." Castiel manages a weak smile at that, though he has his doubts.

As Missouri opens the door, Meg practically falls inside the room from the position in which she had been eavesdropping.

"Excuse you, missy! Just what do you think you're doing?" Missouri asks with an air of exasperation.

"Nothing, just wanted to see if Cas was in," Meg answers innocently.

"Hmph," Missouri says with an eyebrow raised. "Well see to it you don't give him too much trouble now."

"I would _never_ give Cassie any trouble," Meg replies in an overly saccharine tone.

Missouri just shakes her head and crosses the hall to Dean's room, shutting the door behind her.

"OMG, Missouri is such a cock-block!" Meg exclaims as she flops down on Cas's bed.

"Meg, I'm really not in the mood for your two cents right now," Castiel grumbles.

"What? I'm just trying to sympathize," she replies. "Now, spill! What were you doing with the hottie next door?"

"We weren't _doing_ anything," Cas utters through gritted teeth.

"Bullshit!" Meg counters, "why isn't he allowed back in your room?"

"Were you seriously listening in that whole time?" Cas bursts out furiously.

"Well, I couldn't make out _everything,_ but, yeah," she shrugs casually.

"You are _incorrigible,_ ” Castiel deadpans.

"I don't know what that means, but, yeah, probably," she chirps. "So... what were you doing?"

"Ugh," Cas groans loudly, "NOTHING. Not that it's any of your business anyway, but I don't even think he is into guys."

"You've spent all that time talking to him, and you don't even know what team he's playing for? Jesus, Cassie, you're never gonna get laid at that rate."

"Don't. Fucking. Call. Me. _Cassie._ "

"Jeez. Sensitive."

"And what do you mean 'all that time?'" Cas asks incredulously, "We've barely just met."

"Well, I think he likes you," Meg says in an oddly human, non-sociopathic  
way. "I mean he sorta, like, stood up for you after you stormed off the other morning."

"Really?" Castiel questions, an unfamiliar glimmer of hope in his expression.

"Yeah," Meg affirms. "And when I told him you jerk off all night thinking about him, he didn't even freak out or anything," she adds simply.

"You told him _what?_ ” Cas gasps before groaning and falling back on his bed, hands over his face in shock and disbelief. "That's not even true!"

"Oh c'mon Cas, I'm sure it's at least a _little_ true... I mean, it's a little true for me."

"Eww, Meg, gross! I didn't need to hear that."

"What? This is what friends talk about."

"In that case, I'm seriously re-evaluating our _’friendship,’_ ” Cas groans. "Did you _seriously_ tell him I 'jerk off' to him?"

"Would I lie?"

"Yes. Constantly."

"Touché. But I'm not lying this time."

"Great," Cas says sarcastically, "what would I do without you? Whenever I feel like shit, at least you're here to show me I could always be _more_ miserable."

"I do what I can," Meg smiles. "Now let's go get lunch," she says, grabbing his arm and tugging obnoxiously.

"Why can't Missouri walk in on _this_ and ban _you_ from my room?” Cas grumbles.

"Aww, Clarence, you know you love me!"

"I tolerate you." Instead of getting up, Cas rolls over so he's face down. "You go; I'm not hungry," he murmurs into his pillow.

"Ugh, fine," Meg shrugs, "see you around!"

Finally alone, Castiel jams his earbuds into his ears, letting The Beatles commiserate with him.

_The world is treating me bad, misery  
I'm the kind of guy  
Who never used to cry  
The world is treatin' me bad, misery_

_I've lost her now for sure_  
I won't see her no more  
It's gonna be a drag, misery 


	12. Things We Said Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for implied/referenced self harm and anorexia ❤️ (Brief mentions of both- nothing explicit)

_Holy shit._ Dean stumbles across the hall to his own room as if in a fog. He feels like he doesn't recognize himself; he definitely doesn't recognize his own actions today. I mean, Dean Winchester _doesn’t_ spill his guts like that to anyone, and he _doesn’t_ hold hands, especially not with another dude... not that there's anything wrong with that; it's just not really his thing, or at least it's never been his thing before. But talking to Cas... it felt _good._ The way Cas just took what he had to say and contemplated it: Cas hadn't snapped to judgement or looked at him like he was stupid or insane. Maybe that is why Dean had offered up his palm in some strange gesture he didn't quite understand himself, but it felt good, Castiel's gentle fingertips sweeping lightly over his skin. Castiel's hand in his, physical evidence that he's not alone. It's all too much for him to make sense of now.

When Missouri walks into Dean's room, he is laying face-down on his bed, his arms crossed beneath his forehead.

"Dean?" she says softly.

"Yeah?" he answers. He sounds and acts as if he has been sleeping, but he hasn't, and Missouri knows it; she'd only asked him to return to his room ten or so minutes ago. He doesn't know why he does it, but then again, he doesn't know why he has done a good number of the things he has done lately. So he sits up, rubs his face, and blinks up at Missouri, the picture of innocence, a mask hiding the embarrassment he feels brought on by his own vulnerability, and his worry that Missouri may have wheedled some information about him out of Cas. For some reason though, he feels like he can trust Castiel.

"Dean, I'm going to tell you the same thing I just told Castiel," Missouri says, taking a seat across from him. Dean raises his eyebrows, a nonverbal question mark. "From now on, I have to ask that the two of you refrain from entering each others' rooms. Like I told Castiel, you're not 'in trouble,' and you may still speak with each other, but you need to be out in the open."

Dean can't believe what he's hearing. He gapes at Missouri, at a loss for words.

"Sugar, you look like a trout. Do you have something you want to ask?"

"Uh, yeah," he stammers, "why?"

"Dean, I don't know you the way I know Castiel, but I get the feeling that you are an intelligent young man. I think you can answer that question for yourself." Dean still looks at a loss.

"I think you overestimate me, Miss," Dean scoffs. Missouri shakes her head, clicking her tongue.

"In that case, I'll remind you that we have a strict 'no physical contact between residents' policy." At this, Dean's face flushes bright red. "You wanted it spelled out," Missouri adds with a shrug.

"Oh, uh, what you saw... me and Cas? It wasn't... I'm not, like, gay or whatever." The words pour out of Dean's mouth in a torrent, tripping over one another as they do.

"Either way, policy is policy. Got it, sugar?"

"Yeah, I got it," Dean murmurs, ducking his head.

"Great. Now you'd best run along before you miss lunch." Dean  
swallows and nods as he watches her go. He stands, wiping his hands on his pants. He hadn't realized how sweaty they'd gotten. He does a couple paces in his small space. He just can't shake the feeling that has settled over him, like he doesn't quite fit into his own skin anymore. Before he knows it, he's in front of Castiel's door, raising his hand, and knocking gently a couple times.

"Go away, Meg!" comes a pissed off voice from within, and Dean has to smile to himself.

"Uh, it isn't Meg," Dean says to the door. In an instant, it's opening, and he's greeted by Cas, who looks a little worse for the wear.

"Oh, uh, hey," Cas murmurs, "I didn't think it'd be you."

"Um, well, it's me," Dean states with half-hearted humor. "You wanna eat? I assume we're still allowed to do that."

"Sure," Cas answers, his countenance brightening by a degree. "So she talked to you too?"

"Yeah," Dean confirms with a shrug as they begin walking down the hallway.

"I'm sorry," Cas says softly, eyes trained on the floor.

"You don't gotta appologize, Cas. Somehow I get the feeling you haven't been a whole lot of trouble here."

"Do I really seem that boring?" Castiel asks in a way that seems pretty goddamn sincere.

"Boring?" Dean asks, "nah, I wouldn't say that at all."

"Oh," Cas breathes, his cheeks tinged pink, and they finish the short walk to the cafeteria in comfortable silence.

* * *

"Hey, Mr. 'I'm not hungry,'" Meg teases from a table as the two collect their trays. "I guess _someone_ gave you your appetite back..." Castiel glares at her as she stands and saunters up behind them. "Hey tiger," she purrs against Dean's neck, grabbing a handful of his ass as she smirks at Castiel.

"Meg! Quiet room, now!" Missouri's voice comes booming across the room before Cas or Dean even have time to react.

"Jeez, just showing Cas how it's done," she grumbles, sulking and heading for the door, "damn those fuckin' eagle eyes."

"Oh my god," Cas murmurs, a little stunned.

"Did... did I just get sexually harassed?" Dean asks with a thousand-yard stare.

"Somehow I feel victimized as well," Cas replies in a monotone.

"She is just a little bit terrifying," Dean admits, turning to Cas.

"You're right to be scared," Cas assures him as they sit at what has become their table.

"Please protect me from her," Dean jokes and Cas grins.

"I'll see what I can do, but I'm just one guy," Cas jokes back, and for once he is grateful for Meg's embarrassing antics. Maybe it _was actually_ her psycho way of helping him out; he never really can tell with her.

"Oh, uh, Dean, I was thinking," Cas says after a moment, "you're gonna be eighteen this year, right?"

"Yeah. Why?" Dean looks at Cas curiously.

"I was wondering if you'd considered trying to get custody of Sam." Cas peers up into Dean's eyes, those pretty green eyes framed by long, graceful lashes. No. He can't get distracted now!

"Wow. You think that might be possible?" Dean asks hopefully. "I guess that hadn't really occurred to me. I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"I don't really know either, but I could ask Gabe about it, if you want me too."

"Fuck, Cas, you'd really do that for me?" Dean asks, his face lit with an excitement that warms Castiel's chest.

"Yeah, of course," Cas smiles, "it's no problem."

"God, I'd give you a big fuckin' hug right now if I didn't know it'd get us banned from even talking to each other," Dean says with a grin, and Cas curses Missouri in his head.

"I'll take a rain check," Cas dares to reply. Dean laughs.

"Cas, jeez, if that's really possible, it would solve _so many_ problems; you have no idea! I'm basically raising him myself anyway; dad's usually drunk or gone. Maybe Bobby could give me full-time hours. Even the shittiest apartment would be better than our situation now." Dean pauses his stream of conciousness. "I'm probably getting ahead of myself here, I know, but damn! Thank you!" The look in Dean's eyes makes Cas feel like he's melting inside.

"You're welcome. I just hope Gabe can help," Castiel replies softly. "I wish I could do more."

"Cas, you're awesome," Dean says sincerely, causing Castiel to blush furiously.

"Well I think it's awesome how you're taking care of Sam. I can barely  
take care of myself," Cas replies.

"I've done a pretty piss poor job of that recently. Obviously; I'm here," Dean says darkly.

"I'm sure you'll do better now, though," Cas offers.

"I sure hope so."

* * *

The rest of the day passes rather uneventfully. Cas and Dean spend most of the day in the common area talking. They sit in the corner on the floor, as far from the other kids as they can manage, though they still attract some stares. Mostly, Cas assumes, the looks are directed at Dean.

"What's up with those two?" Dean asks Cas when he catches Becky and Anna staring at him and giggling together for the fifth time.

"Oh, uh Becky has OCD, I think, and Anna is anorexic," Cas answers.

"Anna, anorexic. Kind rhymes," Dean chuckles, and Cas gives him a weird look. "I'm sorry. I know; it's not funny-" Then Dean looks up again. "Oh god, they're coming over here."

"Of course they are," Cas groans.

"Uhm, hi!" Becky cheerfully greets them as Anna stands by quietly. "Dean, right?"

"Yep, that's me," Dean confirms.

"It's easy to remember, because it's four letters, like Anna or K-Pop," Becky says excitedly.

"Uh, cool," Dean replies, at a loss for words.

"It's so cool that you have tattoos," Becky says next, "did they hurt? I bet it did. I heard that rib tattoos hurt the worst! Do you have any on your ribs? I've always thought that would be a pretty cool place to get a tattoo, but I don't think I'm brave enough. Maybe I should just get one on my shoulder, but they're so permanent! Do you regret any of yours? OMG, like what if you got one and they spelled something wrong? Ugh! That would just be the worst!" Dean looks like a deer in the headlights as the verbal tidal wave crashes over him.

"Yeah, that would suck," he finally agrees.

"Do you have more tattoos under the bandages? Why are your arms all wrapped up anyway? Were you like, in a car accident or something?" Dean just stares blankly again, unsure what to say as the words are rapid-fired at him.

"Oh," she says, lowering her voice, though it's still plenty loud, "are you a cutter?" Cas cringes, noting Dean's obvious discomfort at the line of questioning, the way he folds his arms protectively across his chest, unable to hide them in any other way.

"Becky, don't you think that's a little _personal_?" Castiel asks pointedly.

"Oh my gosh!" she gasps, slapping a hand over her mouth, "you're right! I'm sorry! I mean, it's okay if you do do it! I tried it once."

"You _tried it once_?" Anna asks incredulously, finally getting a word in.

"Yeah; it wasn't for me," Becky answers nonchalantly, and Cas loudly clears his throat. "Oh, Sorry," Becky says again.

"So... are you from around here?" Becky asks Dean without letting him answer. "I am. Well, I wasn't born here, but I grew up here." But before Becky launches into her life story, Anna elbows her non-subtly. "Oh, right," Becky says, "um, someone wanted me to ask you if you are currently seeing anyone, and if you're not, do you prefer redheads," she says, indicating Anna, "or blondes?" She finishes by tossing her own blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Jesus Christ," Castiel groans.

"Did that _someone_ happen to be you, Becky?" Dean asks with a  
smirk, his cocky façade back in place.

"Oh, you caught me!" Becky giggles. Dean turns to look at Cas who dramatically rolls his eyes, and Becky gasps again. "Oh! Are you two, like, _together?_ I always remember that Castiel likes guys because I usually call him 'Cas,' which is three letters, like 'gay.'" Castiel wants to crawl into a hole and disappear at this point, but Dean can't help but burst out laughing.

"Well, that's one way to remember it," Dean says as he finally gets himself under control.

"Anyway, you guys make a super cute couple," Becky says, chipper as ever, "sorry Anna, looks like we've struck out!" And with that, the two girls wander off, Becky, no doubt, onto a whole new topic. Cas lets out a long, low sigh, afraid to even look at Dean, afraid that the next thing out of Dean's mouth will crush any hope that Castiel dares to harbor regarding him. But it doesn't.

"So... _that_ just happened... I think she may be scarier than Meg," Dean says to him, and Cas nods in agreement, his panic subsiding a little.

"Yeah," Cas says, "I've always wondered how so many words can come out of one person." Dean grins at him, and the rest of his anxiety is dispelled, at least for now. Dean isn't like all the other guys he's known; he clearly isn't afraid of being labelled "gay by association." Maybe it's because Dean has _real_ things to worry about; either way, it's a refreshing change of pace.

"It must be hard for you, though," Cas jokes, "being constantly mobbed by girls who think you're hot." He hopes Dean doesn't pick up on the tinge of jealousy he feels. It would be nice to be wanted, Cas thinks.

"Look around, Cas," Dean shrugs, "we're in a _psych unit._ The sane ones usually steer clear..."

"Guess you got a point," Cas concedes, though he sincerely doubts that Dean would have any trouble finding a date on the outside either.

* * *

That evening a bunch of the kids watch a movie. Sure, it's _Star Wars: Episode I,_ and it sucks, but Cas would rather watch a shitty movie with Dean than sit alone in his room like he usually does. Dean must feel the same, because he actually seems pretty happy, sitting next to Cas (“leaving room for Jesus," of course), leaning over now and again to make a snarky comment. Cas is admittedly sad when the credits roll and he and Dean have to part ways, wishing each other a good night before turning to enter their respective rooms.

Alone in his room, Cas lays awake, unable to shut off his mind. He wonders if Dean is awake too, if he's able to find _any_ peace when he's alone. Castiel understands what it can be like, alone with your own thoughts for too long, unable to keep the intrusive, torturous ones at bay.

Eventually, he gives up, sitting up and flipping on the light, reaching for his sketchpad and iPod. He turns on some Black Sabbath. Maybe it's because he knows how much his parents would hate it, but Sabbath is quickly becoming one of his favorites. As _War Pigs_ plays through his earbuds, he begins to sketch absentmindedly. Before he knows it, a familiar pair of eyes is gazing up at him: Dean's eyes.

* * *

Across the hall, Dean is equally restless. He rolls all the day's events around in his head, examining each one. Could Cas's brother _really_ help him out with Sammy? The thought makes his heart speed up a little. It sounds too good to be true. I mean, good things just don't really happen in his experience. But then again, _Cas happened._ Even if Gabe turns out to be a dead end, Cas tried. Cas, a kid he's only known for a few days, actually thought about him and his problems with the intent to help him.

And he thinks about Meg, well really, he thinks about some of the things she'd said, all the not-so-subtle hints implying that Castiel likes him, like _like_ likes him. Jesus, it's like middle school all over again. But Cas is great. He's effectively kept Dean from climbing the walls in this place. People suck; Dean knows that, but he still finds it hard to understand why someone like Cas would be treated like crap by so many people, including his own goddamn family, all for no real reason, and Dean suddenly wants to beat the hell out of anyone who has ever given Cas shit. The desire is fierce, rivaled only by his mama-bear like ferocity when it comes to Sam. Dean doesn’t let a lot of people “in,” but when he does, he’d sacrifice almost anything for them, and now, Cas is “in.”

When it comes to Castiel's possible attraction to him, Dean isn't quite sure what to think. Yeah, he's been a little curious in the past, and yeah, he's had a couple confusing dreams about _Dr. Sexy,_ but he's never really been "into" guys before. There's something about Cas, though, something about the feeling he gets in his chest when Cas smiles at him, the way Cas's face seems to light up when he greets him in the morning. There's a warmth there. Yeah, he wants to get the hell out of here, but he has to admit that he isn't ready to say goodbye to Castiel. He doesn't want to leave behind the gentle comfort of easy acceptance Cas gives him.

And then he thinks about one thing Meg said in particular. Does Cas really jerk off thinking about him? He has a hard time believing that Castiel would actually say that to Meg, but even the thought of it... well it makes him breathe a little faster, makes his skin feel hot and his body all tingly. He can't stop the images that flood his mind: Cas, his face flushed, head thrown back as he lays in bed alone, lips parted as he pants, gripping himself, wishing it were Dean. And Dean just doesn't know what to do with that.


	13. Any Time at All

"Castiel, I have some good news for you!" Missouri announces the next morning when he emerges, bleary-eyed from his room.

"Huh?" he asks, head tilted to the side and hair all askew. He walks over to the counter where she sits in front of her computer.

"I just got off the phone with your mother," Missouri begins to explain, and Castiel feels like his stomach has been dropped into a bucket of ice water, but he nods as she continues. "She said that your father will be here tomorrow morning to pick you up." Nothing could be further from "good news" in Cas's mind.

"But... but I still have a bunch of problems," Cas utters, falling all over his words. "They're just gonna send me right back; I may as well just stay. Maybe my therapist can recommend an extension of my stay. Is that a thing?"

"Castiel," Missouri replies, concern knit into her brow, "I'm surprised! I thought you would be glad to get out of here." Cas just shrugs. "Why don't you want to go home?" _Because Dean is here._

"I dunno," Cas lies.

"Now, I don't buy that for a minute," Missouri says, her eyebrow raised menacingly.

"Fine," Cas surrenders, slumping against the countertop. "Because I don't like being at home. My sister is annoying, and my parents think that there is something fundamentally 'wrong' with me." Cas sees pity in Missouri's eyes the next time he meets her gaze.

"I'm sorry, sugar," she says, "you just remember this: there is _nothing  
_'wrong' with you. You are talented, smart, and kind, and if anybody can't see that, well they got to get their damn eyes checked."

"Thanks," Cas manages with a weak smile.

When he returns to his room he can't hold back the tears any longer. Collapsing onto his bed, he lets them fall, watching as they soak into his pillow. What if he never sees Dean again? Dean will probably move on and forget all about him. Then there's a knock on his door.

"Cas, breakfast!" It's Dean.

"Uh yeah, just a minute! "Cas calls, jumping up and wiping his eyes. Even though Dean has cried in front of him, Cas has no desire to cry in front of Dean. His eyes, however, betray him, red and watery as he opens the door.

"Hey, man, are you okay?" Dean asks sincerely, as Castiel's distraught face comes into view, and Cas can't lie. He shakes his head, afraid he'll start crying again as soon as he speaks. "Cas, what's going on?" Castiel longs desperately to pull Dean into his room, shut the door, and tell him everything, but he knows he can't. Instead, Dean gestures and leads him down a quiet hallway, away from the curious gazes of the other kids.

"Cas, what's wrong?" Dean asks again quietly.

"I... I'm going home tomorrow," Cas finally chokes out. To his surprise, he finds panic in Dean's pretty eyes.

Dean suddenly feels dizzy. The fear in Castiel's eyes, the sorrow in his voice makes Dean's chest hurt.

"No," Dean breathes, shaking his head helplessly.

"I don't wanna go home, Dean," Cas murmurs, trying to stifle a sob. Dean doesn't know what to say. The thought of being in this place alone, without Castiel is too much for him.

“Can’t Missouri do something?” Dean asks, groping for some hope, but Cas shakes his head, tears leaving their tracks down his cheeks. “Cas, for what it’s worth, I don’t want you to go either,” Dean finds himself admitting.

“Really?” Cas questions softly, blinking up at him.

“Of course, really,” Dean replies quietly. “You’re the only one in here who doesn’t look at me like I’m the freak show I am,” Dean attempts to say lightheartedly, but fails, letting Cas know it’s the honest-to-god truth. “I know we just met a few days ago, but... I dunno, you’re kinda the only friend I have.”

“You consider me a friend?” Cas sniffs, and Dean side-eyes him, pretty sure Cas is asking out of his own self-worth issues, but Dean’s self-worth issues always make him second guess these things.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says, “don’t you?” Cas nods his head, wiping his nose on the back of his wrist, managing a little grin.

"Unless you count Meg, you're pretty much the only friend I've got too," Castiel adds. "I'm really glad I met you," Cas nearly whispers.

"Me too," Dean agrees, earning another weak smile from Cas. "Do you live far from here?" Dean asks next.

"No, maybe a half hour?" Cas replies.

"Cool," Dean says, "maybe we can hang out sometime after I get out... if you want to." Dean's cheeks turn a little pink suggesting this, hoping he isn't being presumptuous.

"Yeah!" Cas responds, probably too enthusiastically, he thinks, Dean's definitely gonna figure out he's into him. "I'd really like that." It seems like Castiel's tears may actually be drying for a moment, so the two head to breakfast.

* * *

"Cas, it's totally gonna suck here without you," Dean says through a mouth full of pancakes. Cas smiles sadly at him. "You think Missouri will let you call and talk to me?"

"I dunno, maybe," Cas says hopefully, "I'll at least try if you'd like."

"Yeah, of course," Dean says. "Cas, talking to you is the one thing that gets me out of my own head."

"I understand the feeling," Cas says, "I just hope you don't get sick of hearing me complain about my shitty family."

"Doubt it. Keeps my mind off my own shitty family- well, really just my shitty dad; Sam's great."

"Speaking of Sam, I haven't forgotten about talking to Gabe for you. I guess that's one thing that'll be easier once I get out of here and get my phone back."

"Thanks, Cas, that really means a lot to me," Dean says with a genuine smile.

* * *

Later, they're sitting together in a common area, listening to Cas's iPod, as Cas sketches away in his sketchbook. This time he's working on a portrait of Robert Plant, a parting gift for Dean. They're listening to a playlist Cas created, entitled "Beatles Songs that Remind Me of Led Zeppelin," and Dean snorts a laugh as Paul McCartney proposes, "why don't we do it in the road? No one will be watching us; why don't we do it in the road?"

"Sounds like a great way to get arrested," Dean comments with a grin, and Cas laughs.

"Yeah, I could think of a few better places to 'do it,'" Cas replies with a laugh.

"Yeah?" Dean asks, raising his eyebrow. "Like where?"

"Oh, like in my bedroom with the door locked," Cas says, rolling his eyes.

"Oh," Dean replies, sounding a little let down, but he's mostly joking.

When Cas stands to use the restroom, Dean pulls the abandoned sketchbook a little closer. What Cas has drawn so far is amazing and, Dean realizes, Cas has done it all from memory. And the kid has probably looked at a photo of Robert Plant what? One? Two times, at most? Absentmindedly, Dean flips through a few pages. Paul McCartney, Paul McCartney, a bumblebee, Paul McCartney, and then Dean freezes. It's suddenly like he's looking in a mirror. It's him. Cas drew him, and it's fucking beautiful.

"Dude! What are you doing?" Cas is back, tearing the book from Dean's hands. "I didn't say you could snoop through my stuff!" Cas is mortified. He can't believe Dean saw _that!_ Cas quickly gathers his things, though forgetting his iPod, and storms off toward his room, leaving a shellshocked Dean in his wake.

Dean sighs and leans his head back against the wall. "Fuck," he says quietly. He knew he'd screw up somehow. He debates with himself between running after Cas immediately, or giving him some time to (hopefully) cool off.

He waits maybe ten minutes. He just can't get that drawing out of his head. Cas had gotten _everything_ about his face _just right._ How had Cas gotten to know his features so well in such a short amount of time? It makes Dean's heart race a little to think that another person had taken such intimate notice of him, and he really hopes he can salvage this.

Hesitantly, Dean knocks on Castiel's closed door.

"Go away," Cas grumbles.

"Cas, please, listen," Dean pleads sincerely through the door. "I'm really sorry... I wasn't thinking, and I fucked up. I shouldn't have looked without asking." Castiel doesn't respond immediately, and a sinking feeling settles over Dean.

On the other side of the door, Cas lets Dean's words sink in. A genuine apology. Cas isn't used to recieving those. Truth be told, Dean didn't even do anything that required much of an apology, Cas reflects; he really isn't so much angry as he is embarrassed, his anger jumping in as a defense mechanism, pushing Dean away before Dean could reject him for "being creepy," or a "stalker," or whatever else he assumed Dean would think. Slowly, Cas drags himself from the bed.

"Cas, I'll leave you alone if that's really what you want," Dean says with a sigh, but then the door is slowly opening, and Cas slips out into the hallway looking embarrassed.

"It's okay, really," Cas says softly, looking at his feet, "I overreacted."

"No, you're right," Dean says gently, "I should have asked... I just... you're so good. I wanted to see more, and I didn't think you'd mind, but I guess I shouldn't have assumed."

"Thanks, Dean," Cas says, still training his eyes on the floor. "I was just... I'm embarrassed... but you're not, like, weirded out now?"

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, his brows scrunched together.

“You know... I saw which page you were on,” Cas replies, his voice somewhat hesitant.

“Oh, am I ‘weirded out’ that you drew an incredible picture of me?” Dean asks with a sly grin, and Cas hazards a look at him. “No, Cas, I’m not.” Dean can see the relief flooding Cas’s features as the boy gazes up at him shyly. “I’d like to see it again sometime if you’re okay with that. I’d like to see all the stuff you’ve drawn, really.”

“Oh,” Cas breathes, “okay.”

“Oh, and you forgot this,” Dean says, holding out the iPod.

“Actually,” Cas replies, “you can keep it.”

“What? No way, Cas!” Dean says automatically.

“No, really, Dean, I’ll check with Missouri to make sure you can keep it, but I’d like you to have it.”

“Cas, I, uh, I don’t know what to say,” Dean replies, voice thick with emotion.

“It’s really not a big deal,” Cas assures him. “I’ve got all my music on my phone at home, and if they decide to send me back here, I can buy a new iPod. But I know how much it’s helped me out here, being able to listen to music instead of my own thoughts at night. I’m hoping it might help you too.”

“Thank you,” Dean manages, “I’m sure it really will. Cas, you’re awesome, like _really_ awesome.” This makes Cas stare at the floor again, cheeks bright red, biting his lip so his smile doesn’t get out of hand.

* * *

Dinner is somber that night. Even Meg seems genuinely sad that Cas will be leaving the next day. It doesn’t, however, stop her from making as many inappropriate comments as she can fit in in the time she has left.

“You know, Cassie, with it being your last night and all, the offer is still on the table...” she smirks. But Cas can’t even be bothered by the nickname “Cassie”; he is too lost in Dean’s face, watching every little facial tick, cementing that gaze in his memory in case it turns out he never eats dinner with Dean again. If Dean notices, he doesn’t say anything. The boys are unusually quiet, so Meg switches tactics.

"Soooo... word around the little girls' room is you two are a 'thing,'" Meg says, obviously trying to get a rise out of them. Cas looks uncomfortable, but otherwise there is no reaction from either of them, so Meg adds, "Becky said she heard that Missouri caught you guys fucking." Cas chokes on the water he'd been drinking, which is clearly the sort of reaction Meg had been hoping for. "I must say, Cas, that it wounds me," Meg sighs dramatically, "that you _finally_ got laid, and you failed to mention it to me, your best friend and confidant." Cas is bright red, unsure what to do or say, sure that this is just gonna be one step too far for Dean, the last straw that causes Dean to change his mind about their friendship, but no; Dean sits there, relaxed as ever, gazing coolly at Meg, a smirk on his lips.

"Maybe," Dean suggests, "you aren't as close to him as you seem to pretend to be. _Maybe,_ " he continues, an edge creeping into his voice, "he would value your 'friendship' a little more if you weren't constantly torturing him."

"Torture?" Meg laughs, "don't you think that's a little mellow dramatic?"

"Fine," Dean concedes, "but you know what I mean- the way you're always trying to embarrass him in front of me for some reason. Just lay off, for fuck's sake!"

"So you don't deny you're fucking him?" Meg asks, flagrantly ignoring Dean's point. Dean sighs, throwing his hands up in defeat.

"Meg, don't be an idiot!" Cas finally speaks up, bolstered by Dean's defense of him. "Do you really think Missouri would allow us to look at each other, much less speak to each other again if she'd caught us... doing _that?_ "

"Duh!" Meg says, "I'm a sociopath, not a fucking retard."

 _"Offensive,"_ Cas mutters under his breath, and Meg rolls her eyes.

"I just wanted to see what you guys would say. I assume you still haven't told him you want him or even snooped around enough to find out if he's into guys," Meg says as if Dean isn't sitting right in front of her. "Cas, baby, you're fucking adorable, but you're never gonna get the guy if you don't speak up for once in your goddamn life."

"Aww, that last part was almost sweet," Dean says sarcastically. "You wanna get out of here?" he asks Cas, who nods.

They return once more to a quiet corner in the common area, the heavy knowledge that this is the last time they will have together for an unknown amount of time settling over them.

"Thank you," Cas says softly, and he can feel Dean shift on the floor beside him.

"For what?"

"No one's ever stood up for me before, well besides Gabe when I was younger."

"She was being a bitch," Dean says simply, and then he takes a deep breath. "Cas, you deserve to have friends who treat you good."

Suddenly, Cas feels his eyes burning. He tries to stop it, but then he's taking a deep, shuddering breath, and tears are rolling down his cheeks. Dean glances around the room. Nobody is looking and, he figures, its their last night together anyway, so he goes for it. Slowly, he takes Castiel's trembling hand, grasping it on the floor between them. Castiel wants to turn to Dean, to feel Dean's arms around him, those arms that are tattooed and cut up, stitched and bandaged, covered in scars Dean is deeply ashamed to show to the world. Cas would give anything to find solace in those arms, but he can't, not now, so he grips Dean's hand fiercely in return.

"Dean," Cas murmurs after a stretch of silence, "I'm going to miss you so much."

"Gonna miss you too," Dean replies softly. After a while, Dean speaks up again. "For the record, I don't care what Meg or Becky or anyone else is saying about us, Cas."

"Really?" Cas asks, sniffing and wide-eyed.

"Yeah. No one around here can mind their own goddamn business, but it's really not a big deal. If anything, maybe it's for the best. If they think we're a couple or whatever, maybe the crazy chicks will leave me alone," Dean laughs.

"Yeah, hopefully," Cas grins, wiping his nose on the collar of his shirt.

"And I'm serious," Dean says, "about seeing you again if I ever get out of here, that is."

"I'll look forward to that," Cas replies with another sniff.

"Me too. Do you have a car?" Dean asks, and Cas's cheeks flush a little pink as he shakes his head.

"All my siblings got cars for their sixteenth birthdays, but I apparently 'haven't earned one,' whatever that means. They probably think I'd just use it to 'cruise' for dudes for casual hookups since we homosexuals are all 'naturally more promiscuous than _normal_ people,' you know?" Dean stares at him, looking more than a little horrified.

"You know that's a load of bullshit, right Cas?" he asks softly.

"Yeah," Cas answers quietly, "but I'd be lying if I said it doesn't hurt a little. I mean, as Meg loves to point out, I've never even kissed anyone, and my parents treat me like the Whore of Babylon... a title that really would suit Anael much better." Dean snorts a laugh at that, and Cas grins a little. "Anyway, I don't even have my license. I was supposed to take Driver's Ed. and then the driver's test, but shit happened, and I ended up here."

"Dude, I can teach you. I pretty much taught myself, and I'll be teaching Sammy in a few years," Dean shrugs, but the smile on Castiel's face makes his heart race.

"You'd do that for me?" Cas asks with an air of wonder.

"I'd be glad to," Dean assures him sincerely before adding "one dent in Baby though, and your ass is grass." Cas's eyes go wide before Dean breaks, laughing. "I'm kidding!" he says, bumping his knee against Cas's, and Cas looks relieved. "I know plenty of wide open spaces you can practice in." And now Cas can't help but think he’s never gonna be able to sleep again; he’ll be up all night, longing for the day when he’ll be alone with Dean, no parents, no Missouri, no Becky, Anna, or Meg- just he and Dean. He can hardly contain his excitement.

* * *

When the time comes that they have to return to their rooms for the night, Castiel's heart feels like it will break. As his hand slips from Dean's, Cas wants to cry again. He will, but he'll save the tears for his bedroom.

As they stand in the hallway, they are both struck by the likelihood that this is "goodbye." Cas ducks into his room for a second, reemerging with two sheets of paper in his hands. He hands them to Dean.

"Awesome!" Dean says with a wide grin, closely examining the top sheet, the finished portrait of Robert Plant. "This is fucking amazing!" Cas blushes furiously at the praise. When Dean looks at the next page, he is struck silent. His own eyes gaze up from the page at him, and he feels like he can't catch his breath. It's like a mirror, only this reflection isn't staring back at him with self-loathing. It's like Cas drew the side of him that isn't a piece of shit failure, that doesn't drink himself to sleep most nights and cut himself until blood is running up his forearm, pooling in the crook of his elbow. _This_ Dean never downed a bottle of Oxy, hoping he'd never wake up.

"You don't have to keep that one if you don't want," Cas says, his voice falling softly on Dean's ears, shaking him out of the place he'd gone.

"Of course I wanna keep it," Dean murmurs. His voice sounds strangled. "Is this really what I look like to you?" Dean nearly whispers. Cas looks confused.

"Yeah," he answers. "You don't think it looks like you?"

"No, it does," Dean assures him, not explaining any further. "You're so goddamn talented, Cas."

* * *

Once he's safely in bed, Castiel sobs into his pillow. He doesn't know when his father will arrive in the morning, and he is afraid he won't be allowed to say goodbye to Dean again in the morning. And then it occurs to him: What if his parents don't allow him to _ever_ see Dean again? He already knows that they will take one look at Dean and hate him. They won't give a shit that he feels Dean is the only good thing to ever happen to him

* * *

Dean sits on the edge of his bed for a long time, portrait of himself held in his trembling hands. Something in him still can't believe that someone as talented as Cas would waste time drawing _him_. But aparently Cas didn't think it was a waste of time. Suddenly, a dark splotch blooms on the paper. Only then does Dean realize tears are rolling steadily down his cheeks. Finally, he sets the drawings safely on his desk and flips the light off, curling up on his side in bed. _Cas is going to miss him,_ he thinks, and he is struck by the desire to leap out of bed, dash across the hall, wrench Cas's door open, grab on to him, and never let go.

So many emotions flood Dean's head that he feels suffocated by them. Fear, sorrow, confusion. He can't catch his breath. He is suddenly sure that something bad is going to happen. Something is going to hurt Cas. He NEEDS to get out of here! Cas needs him. Sammy needs him. When he closes his eyes he can see yellow eyes staring back at him from a space that should be devoid of light. He opens his mouth to scream, but nothing will come out. He wants to scramble from the bed, but he is pinned on his back, a crushing weight on his chest. He feels hands wrapping around his throat, and everything goes black.

The next time he opens his eyes the first light of dawn is just beginning to illuminate his room. His arms and chest are stinging, and he realizes that his bandages are partially torn from his arms. There are scratches all over his chest, and new marks on his arms. Scabs have been torn open, and his bedding is blood-stained. None of that matters to him now though; Cas is leaving, and Dean needs to see him once more.

He rushes to fix up his bandages the best he can before stumbling out into the hallway. Cas's door is open, and his bed stripped bare. The walls have been emptied of the art that had hung there. Dean panics. He rushes to the nurses' station just in time to see Cas, dressed in street clothes, following Missouri and a man in a dark gray suit, down another hallway

"Cas!" Dean calls frantically. Cas freezes before quickly turning toward him. Cas's face is somber, but Dean can see a longing in his eyes. Throwing all caution to the wind, Dean rushes down the hallway, and before Missouri can even register what is happening, Dean is wrapping his arms fiercely around Cas, who seems to melt into him, burying his face in Dean's chest. Castiel’s hair is soft against Dean’s cheek, his body warm in Dean’s arms, and Dean doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t want to be alone again.

“Dean!” Missouri’s voice cracks through the air, but Dean doesn’t care. He can feel Cas trembling, clinging to him, the boy’s tears wetting the front of his green scrubs.

“Castiel!” a commanding voice resonates in the hallway, and Dean can feel Castiel stiffen. “Get over here, NOW.” Reluctantly, Dean loosens his grip, and Cas rushes to dry his eyes. The look on the man's face is one of unadulterated scorn.

“Bye, Dean,” he murmurs, clearly miserable. As Dean lets go, he slips a piece of folded paper into Cas’s hand which Cas manages to pocket without anyone’s notice.

“Thanks for everything, Cas,” Dean says softly. “Stay safe.” Castiel looks confused, but nods before turning sadly to follow the man who must be his father. Dean watches with a feeling of despair as they exit through the door at the end of the hallway, disappearing from view.

* * *

Without a word, Cas slumps into the backseat of his dad’s big black SUV. When he’s sure his dad’s eyes are on the road, he fishes the piece of paper out of his pocket and carefully unfolds it. With a shaky hand, Dean had written out his cell number and the lyrics _any time at all, all you gotta do is call, and I’ll be there._ With a little smile gracing his lips, and a glimmer of hope in his chest, Cas slips the paper safely back into his pocket.


	14. Paranoid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I need someone to show me the things in life that I can't find  
>  I can't see the things that make true happiness, I must be blind  
> Make a joke and I will sigh and you will laugh and I will cry  
> Happiness I cannot feel and love to me is so unreal  
> And so as you hear these words telling you now of my state  
> I tell you to enjoy life I wish I could but it's too late _
> 
> -Black Sabbath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for self-harm. 
> 
> Also, that finale...dear lord. 🙄

"Dean Winchester," Missouri says softly, shaking her head. "What in God's name has gotten into you?" Dean doesn't answer. He just hangs his head sullenly. He feels like he's in a daze, his fingers and toes strangely numb.

"Dean?" Missouri asks concernedly after Dean remains silent.

"'M sorry," Dean murmurs without raising his head.

"Are you alright, sugar?" Missouri asks kindly. Dean shakes his head, a tear betraying him, dripping down his cheek.

"Oh my," Missouri says suddenly, her eyes falling on the fresh scratches visible in the vee of his collar. "Come with me." Dean follows her down the hallway to a small exam room where she instructs him to remove his shirt.

"Dean, how did this happen?" she asks seriously.

"I dunno," he mumbles.

"Dean," she says warningly, shaking her head.

"I'm telling you the truth," Dean retorts. "I dunno what happend; I just woke up like this. Must have torn up the bandages in my sleep." She still doesn't look as though she believes him, but she quietly begins cleaning the scratches on his chest. Dean winces as the cold cleaning solution comes in contact with his skin. Next, Missouri removes the bandages from his arms. One of the cuts that had been stitched closed is now a bloody mess.

"Dean, this is serious," Missouri says calmly.

"I swear, I didn't do it on purpose!" Dean rushes to refute what he knows she must be thinking.

"Have you been having any thoughts about harming yourself?"

"No," Dean answers firmly, "I promised Sammy I wouldn't. And I wanna get out of here."

"Good." Missouri says simply, cleaning up the mess of new and old wounds on Dean's arms.

"I hope Cas is okay," Dean hears himself saying suddenly.

"I'll miss him too." Missouri admits softly. "You, try not to worry yourself about Cas though. You focus on you, Dean. Let me worry about Cas."

"Will you be checking in with him?" Dean asks.

"You know I can't discuss his care with you or anyone else, but you rest assured that his therapist has a handle on the situation. Dean nods.

"You seem to care a great deal about protecting the people close to you, and I'd like you to try and focus some of that energy on caring for yourself," Missouri says gently as she finishes wrapping his arm in gauze, securing it with plenty of tape.

When Missouri instructs Dean to head to breakfast, he protests, stating he isn't hungry. He has to go anyway.

He grabs a muffin, slumping into the seat he would have occupied across from Cas. He picks at the muffin listlessly. When Meg plops down across from him, he glares at her.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," she teases. "So, sexy, what's your name? I'm Meg." Dean stares at her blankly.

"Uh, yeah, I know; we've met."

"What?" Meg says, a confused expression coming over her face, "no we haven't."

"Dude, you grabbed my ass just yesterday," Dean bites back, in no mood for whatever _this_ is.

"You're crazy," Meg replies.

"Whatever," Dean says, pushing himself up from the table abruptly, and heading for the door.

In his room, Dean collapses onto his bed. He feels profoundly alone. He thinks about Sammy. He thinks about Cas. He longs to see them both, to see where they are, what they're doing, to know they're both okay.

"He can't help you, you know," a voice says from across the room, snapping Dean's head up.

"Fuck you," Dean growls, and suddenly the figure is directly in front of him and he feels a stinging sensation across his abdomen. Dean lets out a startled gasp before clasping a hand over his mouth, desperately hoping not to catch anyone's attention. Carefully, he lifts his shirt to reveal four new bright red lines across his stomach, tiny drops of blood blooming in some places. Dean's eyes go wide in fear.

"I'll make sure you're never released," the man sneers.

"Why? Why are you doing this? Why me?" Dean whispers in a panic.

"Like I've said before, Dean: You're... _special._ " Slowly, the man sits across from Dean, leaning back in his chair. "My reasons are mine alone. If I want you to understand, you will understand."

Dean is shaking, and he is suddenly gasping for breath. He feels like he needs to run. He needs to be _anywhere_ but here. But he can't even stand. His body is frozen on the bed, and he feels like a caged animal.

"Please, leave me alone," Dean whimpers, and the man laughs. "Leave me alone!" Dean repeats a little more forcefully.

"Who are you talking to, sugar?" Missouri asks from his door frame, and Dean whips around to face her, panic in his eyes.

"N-no one," he lies.

"Hmm," Missouri replies skeptically. "Well, it's time for your group session."

* * *

Dean is useless in group. He has nothing to contribute, and he has to bite his tongue _hard_ in order to keep from telling Garth to "shut the fuck up." Garth's cheeriness is grating. Becky's incessant chatter makes him want to throw things.

Suddenly, his blood runs cold. The man with yellow eyes is seated across from him in the chair that had been Castiel's. This is new. Yellow Eyes has never been present in front of other people before. Dean's eye dart around the room. It seems obvious to him that nobody else can see the man sitting in Castiel's chair.

Later, when Dean speaks with Billie in her office, Yellow Eyes sits beside him on the couch. During his one on one sessions, Dean isn't able to remain silent, but he talks about his anger management issues instead of his true problem, the one sitting beside him.

* * *

At dinner Dean sits alone, pushing the food around on his plate until Meg sits down opposite him.

"Hey, sexy," she purrs and Dean rolls his eyes

"What? You gonna torture _me_ now that Cas isn't here to take it?" he grumbles.

"Who?"

"Cas," Dean says, his brow furrowed.

"Who the fuck is Cas?" Meg asks incredulously.

"I don't know what you're playing at here, but it's not fucking funny," Dean growls, feeling his temper rising.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says looking confused.

"Why? You got short-term memory loss or something?" Dean spits, "he's your 'best friend' one day and the next you don't remember him?" He is about to lose it.

"Maybe _you’re_ the one who is mis-remembering, Dean," an all too familiar voice says as Yellow Eyes materializes at Meg's side.

"You stay the fuck out of this!" Dean says to him without thinking. Meg stares at Dean with her mouth hanging open.

"Dude," Meg says, shaking her head, "I think you're losing it." Dean glares at her, a white-hot pain developing behind his eyes. "I don't know anyone named 'Cas,'" she states calmly.

Dean can't take it anymore.

"You sure as fuck do!" Dean shouts, standing abruptly, "I'm not the crazy one, you psychotic fucking bitch!" Before he knows what is happening, every eye in the room is fixed on him, and you could hear a pin drop, then he is being ushered down the hallway by two security guards.

"Hey, I'm sorry, okay, I didn't mean to lose my cool," Dean rushes to say, terrified that his chances of being released anytime soon are dwindling.

Without saying much, the guards lead him to a room Castiel had described as "the quiet room." It is dimly lit, and the walls and floor actually _are_ padded. It's where kids go to "cool down" after an outburst. Castiel had told him that Meg has spent a LOT of time in here.

Dean steps in calmly hoping he can undo the damage he's done by cooperating now.

"Um, how long do I need to stay in here?" Dean asks evenly, but the guards have already turned and shut the door. There is a small window in the door, and Dean can tell that one of the men is staying to watch him.

"Fuck," he says to himself, leaning against the wall before sliding down to a seat on the padded floor. He just wants to go to his bedroom and listen to his music. It's too quiet in here, and his thoughts are warring among themselves in his head. _This is such bullshit! Meg is the crazy one._ He knows for a goddamn fact that he did NOT imagine the past week... or at least that's what he tries to assure himself. He is just _so tired._ He can't catch a break.

Dean longs to speak to Sam. He'd give anything to be back in their bedroom listening to Zeppelin, or eating burgers in his Baby as Sam tells him excitedly about some nerdy thing or another. He hopes that maybe Cas will call him tonight, but after the dinner scene, he doubts he'll be allowed a phone conversation.

None of this seems fair.

He startles violently when he looks up from his hands. Yellow Eyes is seated opposite him, grinning.

"Why are you still here?" Dean whispers, his body rigid with anxiety.

"What? I thought you were lonely," the man sneers in reply.

"Nah, I'm good, thanks." Dean tries to shrug, but his voice is shaky.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere."

"Fine," Dean whispers. This is all too much. He wishes Cas were here. Dean draws his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and resting his throbbing forehead on them. He tries desperately to calm himself, tries to control his breathing, but his heart hammers away in his chest as a feeling of panic pricks at his skin. He wants to scream and shout and sob, but instead, he weeps silently, curling into himself as tightly as he can as Yellow Eyes laughs softly at him from a short distance away.

Eventually a nurse he hasn't seen before opens the door, a security guard at her side. She looks nervous.

"How are you feeling, Dean?" she asks.

"Fine," he lies softly.

"Do you feel that you can behave in a safe manner?" Dean has to stuff the urge to snort and roll his eyes deep down inside himself.

"Yes," he says. "Can I talk to Missouri?"

"It's her night off," the nurse answers, but you may return to your room."

When he does, he panics. The drawings are gone. Cas's iPod is gone. He tears the room apart, which mostly consists of throwing his bedding on the floor and tipping his mattress over, but the items are nowhere to be found.

Carefully, he puts his bed back together in an effort to appear sane and stay out of trouble, and he lays on his back, staring at the ceiling, trying to get his breathing under control. His head hurts, and he feels dizzy, but most of all, he wants to talk to Cas or Sam.

He's afraid to ask to use the phone, though, and he doesn't have Cas's number anyway. And then an awful thought enters his mind: What if Cas _does_ only exist in his head. That would be insane though. And then he remembers where he is, and he is suddenly second guessing everything that he has thought and done in the past seven days, questioning every experience, every feeling. Did any of it actually happen? Did the pills and booze fuck his head up that bad? Or maybe he’s actually in a coma, and this whole thing has just been some sort of fucked up dream. 

If he had been panicked before, it’s nothing compared to the panic that consumes him now. It’s paralyzing, the thought that his own mind could turn on him. All his life, the only thing Dean knew he could rely on had been himself, and now he is doubting his own grip on reality, and it is utterly terrifying. 

Against his better judgement, Dean carefully unwraps part of his arm. He glances around the room, but whoever designed it had done a pretty damn good job of removing anything that could possibly be used as a weapon or implement of self-harm. His fingernails are pretty short, but they’re all he has, so he chooses a spot on his arm he can re-wrap later, and begins scratching a line. He hopes that the pain will prove he’s awake, that he’s real, that _this_ is real. Maybe he’ll be able to talk to Missouri in the morning about Cas, but until then, this is all he has. 

It doesn’t hurt at first, but he persists, scratching the same spot over and over, over and over, over and over, until it becomes raw. It stings, and he continues, as a little voice tells him this is a bad idea, that he’ll be caught the next time he’s due for a dressing change, but it isn’t enough to stop him. Finally, he feels a wetness under his fingertips as he lays in the dark. Part of him screams that this is super fucked up, but a larger part doesn’t care as he brings his fingers to his lips, tasting the blood that tells him he is alive, that this is real. It brings him a modicum of relief, enough that he can cease hyperventilating and close his eyes, ignoring the figure watching him from the corner long enough to fall into a fitful sleep.


	15. Blackbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Blackbird singing in the dead of night_  
>  Take these broken wings and learn to fly 
> 
> -The Beatles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS for:  
> Child physical abuse (well actually teen abuse), implied/referenced sexual abuse, homophobia, manipulative psychological abuse
> 
> Please don’t hate me! It’s always darkest before the dawn, I promise! ❤️

As the miles creep by and his home draws nearer, Castiel can feel dread blooming in his chest. The silence in the car is deafening, but that’s alright, he can’t think of anything to say anyway.

“Did you make any progress this week?” His father’s voice shatters the silence after 15 minutes or so of scrutinizing Castiel via the rear view mirror. Castiel startles violently.

“Oh, uh, I dunno, maybe,” he mumbles, but he knows it’s a lie. He knows what his dad is _really_ asking: _Are you still gay?_ And by now, Cas has pretty much figured out that _that_ is simply not going to change. Sure, when he was younger he’d given “praying the gay away” the old college try, but it never helped; if anything, trying not to think about boys only made him think about boys all the more.

“Castiel, you need to speak clearly if you want to make it in this world; mumblers never become successful,” his father lectures, and Cas sighs internally.

“I remember,” he says a little more clearly, “sorry.” But his father has moved on to a new topic.

“Who was that boy attempting to assault you in the hallway?” he asks abruptly.

“He wasn’t ‘assaulting’ me,” Cas says, taken aback, “and he’s just a friend.” This answer doesn’t satisfy his father in the least.

“We didn’t send you there to make friends, Castiel, and the _last_ thing we wanted was to have some lunatic’s hands all over our son,” he spits disgustedly. “What is his name?”

“Why does it matter?” Castiel asks quietly, deeply afraid of where this is going.

“Don’t talk back to me! I asked you a question, now answer it. Don’t make me go through alternative channels.” Castiel cringes inside. He knows his family, and he knows what his father is threatening: legal action, making a formal complaint, blah, blah, blah. Castiel would fight back, but he doesn’t want to risk causing Missouri any trouble.

“His name is Dean.”

“Last name?”

“Please, don’t make a big deal out of this!” Cas begs, “he was just lonely. He just wanted someone to talk to.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Father, please,” Castiel begs again, “please leave him alone.”

“Castiel, answer me. I don’t care what his issues are, he shouldn’t have touched you, and they shouldn’t have _let him_ touch you... especially given your… condition.” Castiel grits his teeth. There are a million words crowding his mouth, at the tip of his tongue, begging to be set loose, but he manages to hold back for fear of where his father is taking this whole thing.

“I don’t know his last name,” he finally lies. He receives a glare from his father through the rear view mirror.

“I know you aren’t telling me the truth. Luckily, your uncle is coming for lunch today, and I’m sure he’ll be happy to have a session with you afterward.” Castiel’s blood runs cold.

His mother’s brother, Zachariah has been his “spiritual counselor” for years. Of course the title is bullshit, as Cas has more recently come to realize that Zachariah likely has no qualifications of any kind. When Castiel was in the 6th grade, his parents started to suspect _certain things_ about him, and his uncle had enthusiastically offered to lend a hand in “setting him right.” Since then, Zachariah has appeared every time one of his parents has a complaint about him, and his methods are _questionable._ What Castiel had failed to tell Dean was that the reason why his father had never beaten him was that he could pay someone to do it for him.

As the SUV winds its way up the family’s long, tree-lined driveway, Castiel is unable to recognize the beauty present around him, the pristine lawns, manicured flower beds, and bright sunlight twinkling off the spotless windows lining the front of the family’s palatial home. It all seems suffocating to him; he feels hopelessly trapped by this perfect façade of a life.

“Castiel, welcome back!” Zachariah greets them at the doorway with a smile that makes Castiel’s skin crawl. Cas stares at the floor, silent.

“Don’t be rude,” his father lectures him.

“Thank you,” Cas murmurs to his uncle who embraces him. His touch lingers; it always lingers, and Castiel feels like he needs a long, hot shower.

“I’m tired. May I go to my room?” Castiel asks quietly, and his father sighs.

“Fine. Zach will be up later to speak with you.”

Cas nods, but quickly turns, making his way up the grand staircase in the entryway. He nearly runs into Anael in the hallway as he approaches his room.

“Oh, yay, Castiel’s back,” she says in a bored monotone as she dodges him.

“I missed you too,” Cas replies sarcastically, wrenching his door open and quickly escaping inside. His room is pretty plain, though quite large with sweeping views of his family’s property, complete with swimming pool and tennis court- though to Castiel’s knowledge, nobody in his family has _ever_ played tennis. He has a desk where he spends most of his time when he’s home, holed up, sketching. He keeps his things neatly ordered, his many books in precise rows on multiple bookshelves around the room. The only decorations, really, are a couple Beatles posters he’s tacked up, and a few of his own drawings.

Cas drops his backpack on his bed and walks into his private bathroom. It’s spotless. Despite how his family may feel about him, the housekeepers _love_ Castiel, mainly because he is polite and speaks to them as if they are real people with lives outside of cleaning the house, but also because they rarely have to do anything in his bedroom or bathroom; he does it all himself.

Castiel turns on the shower, slowly undressing before stepping under the stream of hot water. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and wishing he were anywhere else. His back against one side of the shower, he slides to a seat on the floor, as he often does, pulling his knees up and resting his head on them as the water streams down his back. Holding himself, the tears come as he thinks about Dean and how he wishes things could be. He still isn’t even sure if Dean is straight or bi or whatever, but he figures that it doesn’t matter; he doubts Dean would ever be interested in _him_ like that, especially if Dean were to know _everything_ about his life. Speaking of which, Cas dreads the coming “session” with his uncle. They’re always unpleasant at best.

As Cas has grown older, he has begun to realize that many of the things that his father preaches, and many of the things Zachariah has told him are patently false, but that hasn’t undone the damage that the years of indoctrination have caused; it doesn’t undo the years of wishing he were altogether different, a different person with “correct” feelings. And nothing can undo the things that have been done to him, and the confusion he has been left with.

Castiel has kept it all to himself, knowing that nobody would believe him, and a part of him believing he must deserve it all anyway. Zachariah told him he deserved it, and God has never stepped in to stop it, so it must be true. And if he ever dares to feel that he is a victim in all of this, he immediately berates himself. _Real_ victims, he tells himself, say “no,” they fight back, they’re tied down or are overpowered. None of this is true of himself, he thinks. Indeed, Castiel has never been physically forced into anything, he has never been chained to a wall in somebody’s basement or been tied up and gagged with a gun to his head, but psychological manipulation and coercion can be equally powerful; unfortunately, Castiel doesn’t see it this way.

Eventually he stands, shuts off the water, and steps out of the shower, drying himself hastily before slipping on a pair of pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt that Gabe had sent him from Harvard. Then there is a knock at his door. Before Cas can say anything, Zachariah lets himself into the room; he always does. Cas doesn't know why his uncle even bothers to knock if he isn’t going to wait for an answer. 

"Castiel," Zachariah says brightly, "please, have a seat." Tentatively, Cas sits on the edge of his bed, dread pooling in his belly. His uncle retrieves the desk chair pulling it up to take a seat facing Cas, uncomfortably close.

"It's so nice to see you again," Zachariah says, placing a hand on Castiel's knee. "How was your time away?"

Cas wants to smack his uncle's hand away, crawl backwards over his bed to put some distance between them, but instead, he simply replies, "it was fine."

"Tell me about Dean," Zachariah says next, which feels to Cas like a punch to the gut. His eyes go wide, head snapping up to meet his uncle's gaze.

"What do you mean?" Cas asks, his mouth feeling suddenly dry, his tongue like sandpaper.

"Castiel, I thought we were making so much progress," Zachariah sighs, "but your father told me what happened, how that boy put his arms around you, and you allowed it or, rather, encouraged it. To hear your father tell it, you _clung_ to the boy. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I... I don't know," Castiel stammers. He hates how he can never seem to find the right words in any given situation.

"I am very disappointed in you, Castiel, after all the time I have spent trying to help you."

"I'm sorry," Castiel murmurs, and hates himself for saying it. He is _not_ sorry, nor will he ever be, not for his brief moments with Dean.

"Your father told me he could see the Devil in that boy's eyes!" Zachariah is raising his voice now, working up to what Cas can only assume is going to be some more of his "fire and brimstone" bullshit. If he weren't so anxiety ridden, he'd be tempted to laugh. "Are you really so weak, Castiel, that Satan sends in one boy who shows a modicum of interest in you, and you're ready to throw away _years_ of hard work and break your dear mother's heart?"

"I... he's not even gay," Castiel murmurs weakly.

"How do you know?" Zachariah demands, "were you asking him? Why would you even broach the subject if you were truly committed to cleansing yourself of the evil desires you have chosen to harbor?"

"No!" Castiel replies, his voice shaking, "he just mentioned girls he's dated. I didn't ask him anything like that."

"Lying is a sin; you know that," Zachariah says, shaking his head.

"I'm _not_ lying!" Cas protests, but it's no use.

"Castiel, I hope you know how much I care for you. Everything I have done, I have done for your own good, but it seems that your demons are beyond even my abilities. You have given us no choice in this matter," Zachariah says in a dramatically melancholy voice.

"No choice in what?" Castiel asks quietly, nervously watching his uncle rise and walk to the door. To his utter surprise, his mother is waiting on the other side. She gingerly steps into the room, dressed in a pressed pantsuit and heels, looking altogether like she is stepping into something filthy though the place is pristine.

"Naomi, I am sorry," Zachariah says to his sister, "but it appears that I have failed in my many attempts."

"Nevertheless, James and I are eternally grateful for your efforts as, I am sure, is Castiel." When his mother finally turns to look at him, taking a seat in the chair, though much further from him than Zachariah had sat, her gaze is cold.

"Castiel," she says without any acknowledgement that this is the first time she has seen him in around a week, "your father and I have decided that it would be for the best if you attend a program that your uncle has recommended to us. He assures us that it is very effective in correcting people with your… _defect_." Castiel's heart hammers in his chest. His ears ring.

"What kind of program?" he asks fearfully, "can't I just go back to the hospital?"

" _That_ clearly hasn't been working!" his mother shouts, quick to lose her temper. "We should have known better than to send you to a Godless, state-run facility. Fortunately, we have recognized our error. I only hope it is not too late."

"Castiel, there is no need to worry," Zachariah says in an oily attempt to sound soothing, sitting next to Cas on the bed, snaking an arm around Cas's shoulders. Castiel wants to scream, but remains quiet, cowed as always, even when his uncle's touch brings bile to the back of his throat. "This is all in your best interest. These programs have cured many young men like yourself." Castiel squeezes his eyes shut, suddenly trembling with anger. He tries to remember what Missouri told him, what Dean told him: _There is nothing wrong with him. This is all bullshit. Dean likes him the way he is!_ And for the first time, Castiel decides to say something.

"Cure?" he spits, wrenching himself free of his uncle's embrace. "You two realize I don't have a disease, right!?" His eyes flash angrily between his uncle and his mother. Without warning, he is backhanded across the face by Zachariah, but he can't stop himself. "I don't know what I've done to deserve your hatred; I've never even kissed anyone, and you act like I'm a whore! Why don't you go talk to the slut next door?"

"Castiel!" his mother shrieks, jumping to her feet. "How dare you speak about your sister like that?" She slaps him as hard as she can which, he thinks, is surprisingly hard. "You need to think long and hard about your place in this family, and you'd better hope that this program works, because I've had it up to here with your ingratitude and disrespect on top of your perversion. You are an embarrassment, Castiel." The look his mother gives him is frigid. "Zachariah, deal with this," she adds icily before turning on her heel and storming from the room, slamming the door behind her. Zachariah rounds on him, and Cas knows he's in for it.

"I don't know where you got the idea that you can speak to your poor mother like that," Zachariah says, pouncing on Cas pinning him on the bed, his hands around his throat. Castiel begins to panic, but the words keep coming anyway.

"What? Anael _is_ a fucking slut. Maybe you should try forcing your dick down _her_ throat for a change." Castiel says in a lowered voice, glaring with deadly fury into his uncle's face.

"You are seriously going to regret that you just said that," Zachariah hisses, seeing red, squeezing Castiel's throat until he is on the verge of blacking out. "Get up!" Zachariah shouts after releasing his grip and getting to his feet. For a moment Cas lays stunned, gasping for breath, his eyes watering.

"I said, get up!" Zachariah shouts a second time, and Cas scrambles backward, getting to his feet, keeping the bed between himself and his uncle. "Now, if you apologize for your insolence and follow my instructions, you will attend the program and be welcomed back into the family. I may even consider dropping the whole matter of Dean, and your father's complaint against the hospital and that nurse who let that boy near you." Cas swallows hard, afraid to ask what happens if he doesn't comply. As if reading his mind, Zachariah continues. "If you choose not to cooperate, I will personally see that your father's complaint goes through, that that nurse is fired, and that boy is charged with assault." Castiel's jaw drops. _Assault?_ But he knows not to underestimate his own family; they've got the local law enforcement wrapped around their fingers, and more high power lawyers than they know what to do with. So Castiel lowers his head, taking a deep breath.

"I apologize," Castiel begins, knowing that he needs to make this believably sincere. "I should not have raised my voice against you or my mother when you are trying to help me." He will not, however, bring Dean into his apologetic performance.

"Good boy, Castiel," Zachariah says with a slimy grin on his face. "Now undress." Cas is sure he looks like the proverbial deer in the headlights, but he complies, shivering as he removes his sweatshirt. When he is down to only his underwear, he glances up at his uncle, pleading wordlessly to leave it at this.

"Everything, Castiel," Zachariah says coldly, and Cas forces himself to comply even though his heart is telling him to run for it, jump out the window do _anything_ else. He feels light-headed, his body beginning to tremble uncontrollably.

"Don't be frightened, Castiel; I am only helping you. Now, come here." Again, Castiel complies, terrified and humiliated, standing before his uncle completely naked. "Turn around. Kneel... bend over the bed."

Castiel buries his face in his blankets, unable to hold back his tears any longer. Terror has rendered his entire body painfully rigid. He begins to sob when he hears Zachariah unbuckling his belt. He pleads silently to a God he isn't even sure exists to _please_ not let this happen, because the one thought that keeps flashing through his mind is _nobody is going to want me after this._

When the belt cracks across his back for the first time, leaving a searing burn in its wake, Castiel lets out a startled, strangled cry, but the truth is that he is actually _relieved._ This, he thinks, he can live with.

Every stroke of the belt hurts more than the last, and Cas finds himself biting into his blanket to keep from screaming; he won't give his uncle that satisfaction, or Anael for that matter if she can hear any of this through the wall. He balls his fists in the sheets, his knuckles white, unsure how much more he can take before he passes out. His uncle doesn't seem like he is going to stop before he draws blood.

By the last blow, Zachariah has exhausted himself, sweating through his dress shirt, pathetically out of breath. Castiel doesn't move. He waits for instructions, hoping that his "lesson" has come to an end.

"You had better not step one toe out of line between now and next week when the program begins. I'm sure you would like to heal before the five hour car ride it will take to get to the camp. So do yourself a favor and ask God for forgiveness, study your Bible, and pray that He gives you the strength to resist your own wicked nature. Goodbye, Castiel."

After hearing the door shut, Castiel finally allows himself to collapse onto his side on the floor. He doesn't even have the energy to crawl into bed. This has been the most severe beating he has ever received. Still, through the unbelievable pain, he is grateful; he had _only_ been abused physically.

After a while, he manages to tug a blanket down over himself. He can't stop shivering, and the shivering is excruciating. He tries to distract himself by thinking about anything else. He thinks about Dean. Dean, the kind boy with the pretty green eyes, the boy who had confided in him, had told him that he has been ''visited by demons" since he was a child. But Dean seems so _normal_ in every other way. Sure, Dean struggles with depression and self harm, but that doesn't make him insane. The thought that Dean could be suffering from another serious mental illness scares Castiel, so he tries to push the idea from his mind. Right now he feels that Dean is the only reason he has to keep living, which is also scary, because Castiel's disbelief that another person could truly see any worth in him continues to sow seeds of doubt in his mind, makes him wonder if Dean was serious about seeing him again. Another panicked thought rushes to his mind: his family is apparently sending him _five hours away_ for God knows how long. He can't let that happen. He needs to be here when Dean is released. He resolves to call and ask to speak with Dean as soon as he regains the ability to move.

* * *

Castiel isn’t sure how long it has been by the time he is woken by a soft knocking on the door. He attempts to sit up, and the blanket shifts, revealing his back before he gives up and collapses back into a heap. As the door opens, he hears a gasp, and then a soft woman’s voice cry his name. She shuts the door behind her and rushes to his side. 

“Castiel?” she murmurs, “what happened?” 

“María?” Cas says softy, looking up into her warm brown eyes. 

“Yes, mijo, who did this to you?” Cas just shakes his head. 

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” he lies obviously. 

“You’re bleeding! I should go get help,” she rushes to say, but Castiel grasps her wrist feebly. 

“No!” he says, panicked, “please don’t. Please don’t tell anyone! If my family finds out you know, they’ll punish me further, and they’ll fire you.”

“Cariño,” she sighs, brushing the hair back from his forehead. Castiel can see tears forming in her eyes. “I don’t understand. Was it your father?”

“No. Another family member. Please, please don’t say anything,” Castiel begs, “it will only make things worse.”

“Alright, you have my word. At least let me help you get cleaned up.” Cas slowly nods his agreement, and María rushes to gather some first aid supplies. When she returns, she finds Castiel still on the floor. 

“Mijo, can you stand? Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No, just my back.” And his ass, but he doesn’t say that.

“Let me help you up,” she offers. Cas nods and then remembers- 

“I don’t have any clothes on,” he says, his cheeks reddening. 

“I raised three boys. Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Carefully, she helps him onto the bed where he lays on his stomach. Castiel bites his lip, stifling the cry of pain he is on the verge of letting out. María quickly covers the lower half of his body with a blanket, and walks to the bathroom to wet a washcloth with warm water. Castiel whimpers softly as she dabs at the worst marks on his back, the washcloth quickly turning pink with blood. 

“Dios mío,” María utters under her breath. “Castiel, this is very bad.” Cas doesn’t say anything, only hisses through his teeth when she reaches a spot that particularly stings. “I just don’t understand how anyone could do this to a child.” Cas glances back at her. “Yes, I know you’re nearly grown, but you will always be a child in my eyes… much like my own children.” Cas smiles at her sadly until she reaches another very sore spot, and he buries his face in his pillow. Once he’s cleaned up she carefully applies antibiotic ointment to the worst spots; it helps some with the pain as well as warding off infection. Once she is finished taping gauze over the ointment, Castiel rolls onto his side, wiping the tears from his eyes before looking at her. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “you care more about me than my own mother.” 

“Oh, corazoncito,” she sighs, “I wish I could do more for you. Please reconsider going to the authorities; this is serious abuse.”

“My parents would just lie to the cops about it, and they’d be believed. And if you try to interfere, I am afraid of what they might do. They might try to have you deported, and I don’t want your family to be in danger of losing you.”

“Castiel, is there anywhere you can go? Anywhere you would be safe?” María asks, taking his hand, her eyes once again filling with tears. 

“I don’t know,” Cas sniffs, “not that I can think of.” In a perfect world he would run away with Dean and never look back. Then again, in a perfect world he wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. María sighs again, shaking her head. 

“The world is not fair, pobrecito,” she says softly, “but I sincerely hope you can get out of here soon. You deserve better. Nobody deserves this.” Cas manages a weak smile. “Is there anything I can get you, Castiel?”

“Um yeah, actually, would you mind handing me the biology textbook that’s on the bottom shelf over there?” María side-eyes him. 

“You should rest, not study,” she lectures gently, but brings him the book anyway. 

“Thank you,” he says, “oh, and would you please bring me whatever will get blood out of carpet?”

“I most certainly will not,” she says firmly to Castiel’s astonishment. Before he can protest she adds, “I will clean the carpet for you, and I will not allow you to argue me on this point.”

“Fine,” he says with a small grin, “and thank you.” 

“Of course, mijo. Anything else?”

“Oh, um, hand me my jeans?” She does. 

“Now you try and get some rest. I’ll be back later to clean your floor and bring you something to eat, okay?”

“Yes,” Cas answers, “and thank you for everything. I know my family never says it, but I hope you know how grateful _I_ am for everything you’ve done for me over the years.” 

“I appreciate hearing that,” she replies with a smile and gentle touch to his shoulder, “you have always been my favorite.”

* * *

As soon as the door shuts behind María, Castiel hastily searches the pockets of his jeans, relieved to find that the note with Dean’s phone number is still there. Then he opens his biology textbook. Inside, he has cut out a hole big enough to hide a cellphone in. Sure, his parents bought him a phone that he uses for everyday things, but this is his _secret_ phone. He’s not stupid; he knows his parents routinely go through his other phone, and they not-so-subtly installed an app that they can use to track his location. Every Novak kid has learned to carry a “burner phone.” Furthermore, Castiel learned long ago that under the mattress is the _first_ place anyone is going to look for contraband. A biology textbook though? He’s pretty sure his parents would never suspect that he would damage a book in order to hide something in it; he’s a total nerd. This book, however, can hardly be called a biology book- it only contains information on “intelligent design,” the only life “science” his parents will allow under their roof. Evolution is out of the question. 

Quickly, Castiel enters Dean’s number into his phone and stashes the note in his book. He’s sure Dean is still at the hospital though, so he doesn’t bother trying his cell yet. Instead, he scrolls through his phone to find the hospital’s number and calls it, listening to the ring with insane butterflies in his stomach. He doesn’t know what he is planning to tell Dean; he just wants to hear his voice. 

“Adolescent psychiatric unit, how can I help you?” a female voice answers the call. 

“Uh, hi, um, could I please speak with Missouri Moseley?”

“I’m sorry, she is not working this evening, can I take a message?”

“Um, no that’s ok, I’ll try back tomorrow,” Castiel replies disappointedly, but decides he’ll give asking for Dean a shot. “Um, is there any chance I could speak with Dean Winchester?” 

“Are you a family member of his?” Castiel considers lying, but ultimately decides it isn’t a good idea. 

“No,” he says truthfully, “I’m his friend, Cas.”

“Castiel?” the woman asks, recognition flooding her voice. 

“Yeah,” Cas says. 

“I thought you sounded familiar! But sorry, Castiel, Dean is not able to come to the phone at this time. I believe Missouri will be back tomorrow morning though, if you would like to speak with her then.”

“Oh, okay, well thank you.” Castiel feels crushed. He worries about Dean, hoping he’s alright, hoping he isn’t in some kind of trouble. He’d known better than to ask why Dean couldn’t come to the phone; he knew the nurse wouldn’t give him any information like that. He wishes he could fall asleep and stay that way until the next morning, but he is in too much pain. Every movement he makes pulls at a different spot on his back, and with the amount he usually tosses and turns at night, he knows this one is going to be miserable.

* * *

When María returns a few hours later to clean the blood from Castiel’s carpet, she brings him dinner, and some relief in the form of a bottle of Vicodin. 

“Castiel, will you please _promise_ me that you will take these only as directed?” María asks sternly as she hands him the bottle. “You know I couldn’t live with myself if you were to… do something foolish.”

“I promise,” Castiel says, and he means it. Though he has often been severely depressed, he has never been suicidal; he has always managed to hold out some hope that someday maybe things will be a little better. 

“Good. I just thought it may help you sleep. I’m sure you’re in a lot of pain,” she says, gazing at him sympathetically. 

“Yes, thank you, María,” he replies before asking, “where did you get these?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course!”

“They’re your mother’s. She leaves bottles of pills laying around _everywhere._ Don’t worry, cariño, she will never notice one bottle is gone! Half of the prescriptions on her nightstand are written in your or one of your siblings’ names anyway…” she says, rolling her eyes. Cas stares at her with wide eyes and a crooked smile as she kneels to begin scrubbing his carpet. 

_“Jesus Christ,”_ Cas swears, “I wish I could trade her in for a new mother…”

“Me too. I would take you in a heartbeat,” María says sincerely, and Castiel suddenly has tears in his eyes that he struggles to hide.

* * *

After a while, Castiel thinks he can feel the pain killers kicking in. He still hurts, but it is dulled, and he feels warm and sleepy. Eventually he falls into a deep sleep. 

The next morning, Cas feels like he has been not only hit by, but also mangled by a bus. Groggily, he reaches for the pill bottle he had also hidden in his stupid textbook, and takes two pills before picking up his phone. It’s already 9am. He’d actually managed to sleep in somehow. He hurries to dial the hospital and waits impatiently as it rings. Missouri answers!

“Missouri!” Castiel says happily, “it’s Castiel!”

“Oh, hi sugar, speak of the devil!” she says warmly. 

“Ha!...what do you mean?” he laughs, confused. 

“Now I don’t suppose you are calling to speak to the young man who happens to be standing here at my desk asking about you, are you?” Castiel’s breath catches in his chest. She _can’t_ mean what he thinks she does! _Dean is asking about him?_

“Sugar? You still there?” Missouri asks after a moment. 

“Yeah! Yeah,” he says awkwardly, “I, uh, was hoping to talk to Dean.” Cas can almost _hear_ Missouri rolling her eyes. 

“Alright, he’s right here,” she laughs, “it was nice hearing from you. Hope you’re doing well.”

“Thanks, Missouri!” Castiel says, his heart skipping a beat or two. As she hands the phone over, he can hear her saying _“I told you so,”_ which just makes his heart and mind race even faster. 

“Cas?” Dean says breathlessly, and Cas isn’t sure, but he almost thinks Dean sounds _relieved._

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replies, feeling like his heart is in his throat.


	16. Something

Earlier that morning:

Dean wakes to a burning sensation in his forearm. _Fuck,_ he thinks, he's really done it this time. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ The spot he'd scratched raw the night before looks like shit. He'll try to wash it well with soap in the bathroom, but he's worried; it looks like maybe it's going to get infected, and that's going to raise a whole bunch of questions. For now though, he makes sure his bandages are covering it before he wanders out into the hallway, hoping to find Missouri. To his immense relief, she is seated at the nurses' station. He puts on the brightest, most winning face he can manage and saunters over to the counter.

"Good morning, Dean," she greets him. "Heard you had a rough evening."

"Uh, yeah, sorry about that. I let that Meg chick get to me." Dean answers, his cheeks pink.

"Well, I'll try to keep her from harassing you," Missouri replies sympathetically.

"Thanks, Miss," Dean says. "Uh, so this is probably gonna sound strange, but you know who Castiel is, right?" Missouri gives him a strange look, and for a moment his heart sinks.

"Dean, are you sure you're alright?" she asks concernedly.

"Uh yeah," he says, swallowing hard, "I think so."

"Of course I know Castiel! My memory isn't _that_ bad, sugar," she says, shaking her head. "Now, why are you asking that?"

"Ugh. Friggin' _Meg,_ " he groans. "She was trying to tell me he didn't exist. Now I feel like an idiot."

"Oh, Dean," Missouri sighs in sympathy, "you try and ignore her, okay? Castiel exists; you're not insane. Looks like I need to have _another_ talk with that girl about gaslighting people."

"Gaslighting?" Dean asks, furrowing his brow.

"You know, trying to make people think they're going crazy," Missouri explains. "Oh, and that reminds me, the evening shift staff was holding these, but you can have them back now." Relief floods over Dean as she hands him Cas's iPod and the portrait he'd drawn of Dean.

"That boy sure is talented," Missouri says softly.

"Yeah," Dean breathes, and is startled when the phone begins ringing.

"Good morning, adolescent psychiatric unit," Missouri answers.

“Oh, hi sugar, speak of the devil!” she says warmly after a moment, a grin spreading across her face as she looks up at Dean. “Now I don’t suppose you are calling to speak to the young man who happens to be standing here at my desk asking about you, are you?” Dean flushes bright red, but his heart leaps at the same time.

“Sugar? You still there?” Missouri asks after a moment.

“Alright, he’s right here,” she laughs, “it was nice hearing from you. Hope you’re doing well.”

“I told you so,” Missouri says teasingly as she hands a surprised Dean the phone.

“Cas?” Dean says breathlessly, not quite able to believe Castiel was actually calling to talk to him.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replies, and Dean lets out an audible sigh of relief.

"Jesus, Cas, am I glad to hear from you," Dean says happily then.

"What? Really?" Castiel sounds at once surprised and hopeful.

"Fuck, yeah," Dean swears, and Missouri raises an eyebrow before returning to her work. "Meg tried to tell me I just _imagined_ you. Gotta admit, she got me for a moment."

"Oh my god," Cas says in disbelief, "what the fuck? What a psycho!"

"Right?" Dean agrees. "Anyway, how are you doing on the outside?"

"Uh, not so good, actually," Cas admits.

"What's going on?" Dean asks sincerely.

"My parents are sending me away next week," Castiel sighs, and he suddenly sounds on the verge of tears.

"What?" Dean asks, "where to?"

"Um, have you heard of 'gay conversion therapy'?" Cas asks softly.

"Yeah," Dean says tensely. "why?"

"'Cause they're sending me to a place that does that." Castiel sounds broken, and Dean wants to punch something.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Dean replies, struggling to keep his volume low.

"I wish I was," Cas says, and the fear in his voice makes Dean's chest hurt.

"I thought that shit was illegal!” Dean says with a quiet disbelief, hoping Missouri isn't listening too intently.

"Not in Kansas, I guess," Cas sighs.

"Fuck," Dean swears again, and then with perfect timing, Missouri walks off for a moment to do something.

"Listen, Cas, you're not goin' to that fucking place, you hear me?" Dean whispers urgently.

"But..." Cas begins.

"No! Cas, I promise, okay? As soon as I'm out of here, I'm coming to get you," Dean says quickly. "And if I'm not out in time, you send me the address of the place, and I will bust you the fuck out of there when I do get out." Cas is silent when Dean is through.

"Cas? Are you there?" Dean asks softly.

"Yes... yeah," Cas sniffs.

"We'll figure this out, okay?" Dean can hear Cas breaking down on the other end of the line, and he feels so helpless, only able to give Cas words when he wishes he could hold on to him tightly, protecting him from the rest of the world.

"Okay, Dean," Cas chokes, " ... sorry."

"Sorry? For what?" Dean asks.

"I didn't wanna just call and start crying immediately," Cas says softly.

"Hey man, I get it. You're in a fucked up situation... And I cry too... more than I like. Just don't tell anyone. I have an image to keep up!" Dean jokes, and Cas manages a little laugh.

"It'll be our little secret," Cas replies.

"So what _did_ you wanna talk to me for?" Dean asks teasingly.

"Honestly?" Cas sighs, "I just needed to hear a friendly voice... I actually tried calling last night but the nurse said you couldn't come to the phone, so I was worried about that too. Are you okay?"

"Doin' better now," Dean shrugs, not wanting to burden Cas with the whole truth. "I had to spend some time in the 'quiet room' because I blew up at Meg at dinner. That's probably where I was when you called."

"Ugh," Cas comiserates, "I wish she'd just lay off once in a while."

"Yeah," Dean agrees, and then he admits something else. "Cas, I really would have liked to talk to you last night. I'd been hoping I'd get to talk to you soon." Cas is quiet on the other end of the line, and sounds a little breathless when he finally says something.

"That... that really means a lot to me," he says softly.

"I mean it. Hey, uh, Missouri's signalling it's time for my session, but I'm really glad you called, and I truly meant what I said... about everything.”

“Thank you, Dean. I’m so glad I got to talk to you, oh and I forgot to mention, I wrote my cell number on the back of the drawing I gave you... it’s really small. I didn’t wanna make it too obvious in case they’d confiscate it or something.”

“Awesome! Well, I’ll talk to you soon,” Dean says, “try not to worry about everything. It’s gonna be okay.”

“I’ll do my best. Goodbye, Dean, and thank you again,” Cas murmurs.

“Bye Cas.” Dean hands the phone back to Missouri, and for the first time in a long time, he actually feels hopeful as he walks to the office where Billie is waiting for him.

* * *

“Good morning, Dean,” Billie says pleasantly as he sits on the couch opposite her.

“Morning,” he says with a crooked grin. Billie looks at him appraisingly with an amused smile on her lips.

“Well, you seem... different today. How are you doing?”

“I feel pretty good,” Dean shrugs.

“That’s good to hear,” Billie replies. “Would you like to speak about last night?”

“Oh. I just kinda lost my cool. That girl Meg had been messing with me all day, and I kinda snapped. I promise, I’ll do better. I really just wanna go home and see my brother again,” he says hopefully.

“That’s good, Dean. I’m glad you are looking to the future. Would you like to tell me what she did that made you so angry?”

“Well, Missouri called it _gaslighting,_ ” Dean offers.

“Hmm,” Billie says, her eyebrows knit together for a moment. “How so?”

“Well, she was pretending not to know what I was talking about and saying I was imagining stuff, and it’s just sorta pissed me off. I mean, I guess I overreacted, but just, on top of everything, I just didn’t need that, you know?”

“Yes, I understand. And did she succeed? In making you doubt yourself?” Billie asks calmly.

“Well, I dunno, maybe a little. I just... I guess I’ve kinda been feeling some unusual things lately, and I’m sorta... questioning some stuff, so maybe it bothered me more than usual...” Dean can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, but they just won’t stop now that the floodgates have opened.

“And what ‘stuff’ have you been questioning?” Billie asks.

“Well... this is all confidential, right?”

“Yes, of course, Dean,” she assures him.

“Well,” he clears his throat. He can’t believe he’s gonna do this. “So I’ve always been into chicks, you know? I’ve had a few girlfriends that lasted for a little while, and I’ve hooked up with a lot of women I never saw again, and I’m still into women, don’t get me wrong, but...” Dean pauses for a moment, trying to figure out where he’s going with this, sure Billie is completely thrown by how out of left field this whole topic is.

“But?” she encourages.

“Well, there’s this guy, a friend, that I met recently, and... I’ve _never_ been attracted to another dude before, and I dunno, it’s... it’s hard to explain.”

“Well, are you attracted to this friend?” Billie asks gently.

“I dunno... I think... maybe?” Dean sighs, rubbing his face with both hands. “He just... he makes me feel different. Like, good about myself. And I worry about him, ‘cause I know stuff is pretty hard for him sometimes, and I wanna... I want to protect him.”

“Can you tell me more about him?”

“Um, well he’s really talented, like he does really awesome drawings and stuff, and he... I feel like I can tell him stuff I’ve never told anyone. Like, I really trust him, and he’s just accepting and he’s really understanding. And I’ve never really felt that way about _anyone_ before.”

“Is he your age?”

“Yeah, almost. One year younger.”

“And physically, are you attracted to him?” Dean blushes furiously at this, which embarrassed him further.

“Well, I dunno, that’s the confusing part... I mean, we haven’t really been alone together much, but like the couple times we had...contact, I guess, like a hug... and I... well, we held hands once,” Dean continues, stumbling over his words and continually rubbing his face and staring at his feet, “well, it felt good... I just don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“How a guy could make me feel... like that.”

“Human sexuality is very complicated. Contrary to what many people believe, sexual preferences are a lot less black and white than a lot of people would like to believe. There are a lot of shades of gray... much more of a wide spectrum than neat and tidy boxes to check. Yes, some people may identify as 100 percent heterosexual or homosexual, but many people are somewhere in-between. At this point in your life it is completely normal to be questioning where you lie on that spectrum.”

“Hmm,” Dean says, carefully considering what she said.

“How does your friend feel? Have you discussed this?”

“Oh, uh, I’m not sure. I mean, he’s gay, but I don’t know if he’s interested in me like that. I think he might be, I mean, his friend said he is, but she’s also a frickin’ psychopath, so I dunno.” Dean continues fidgeting with his hands.

“Well, it sounds like you really care about this friend either way,” Billie says softly.

“Yeah, I do,” Dean confirms. “I think that’s part of why it’s so complicated. I really don’t wanna fuck things up with him. I’ve never had a really close friend, and I... the thought of... it sucks, thinking something could happen and I wouldn’t see him again.”

“Dean, the fact that you are able to talk about this so openly and honestly is great. I am glad that you feel able to talk about this with me, and I hope that saying some of this out load can help you find some clarity. It’s a healthy first step anyway.”

“Honestly, I kinda can’t believe I said all that; I hadn’t really even said it to myself before now.” Billie smiles knowingly at him.

“How does the idea of being attracted to a man make you feel?”

“What, besides confused? Fine, I guess. I mean, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it, it’s just never really been my thing before. I mean, my dad would probably beat the shit out of me if he found out, but -“ and then he freezes. He kicks himself for saying anything about his dad that could promp further questions, or any sort of investigation.

“Are you speaking literally, or figuratively?” Billie asks, her eyebrows raised.

“I uh, well, I just mean he’s a homophobic sonofabitch,” Dean says, “it’d just be one more disappointing thing about me in his eyes.”

“I see. That can’t be easy, having that in the back of your mind while trying to sort out your new feelings for this friend.” Dean just nods, letting out a slow breath. “Well, I am proud of you, Dean,” Billie says sincerely, “you have made good progress in even the short time I have been seeing you.”

“Do you think I could go home soon?” Dean asks hopefully.

“Yes, I believe that could be a possibility,” she says. “Have you experienced any more thoughts about suicide or harming yourself in any way?”

“No,” Dean replies, “and I swear I’m not just saying that so you’ll let me go. I truly regret doing what I did, and I promised Sammy I’d never do it again, and I intend to keep that promise… and I have the friend I was talking about. I’ve made him some promises too. For the first time in a long time, I actually feel some hope, you know?”

“That’s great to hear,” Billie says sincerely.

* * *

For the rest of the day Dean’s spirits are high. Even at dinner, when Meg plops down in front of him, he feels like he is in control of his emotions. 

“Hey, sexy,” she says, and Dean rolls his eyes. 

“Sweetheart, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” Dean says coolly. 

“Whatever. I just wanted to see if you’d heard from Cas,” she says and sounds strangely sincere. 

“Oh, you can remember him now?” Dean says sarcastically. 

“Yeah. I was just fucking with you. I’d apologize, but I wouldn’t mean it, so why bother?”

“Well, that was really fuckin’ uncool. And if you try and ‘fuck with’ me again, I’ll never acknowledge your existence again.”

“Ooh, I’m scared,” Meg mocks, “but seriously, have you heard from Cas?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, eyeing her skeptically, “why? What’s it to you?”

“Hey, I know I tease him, but I actually give a shit about him. Do you know how many people I can say that about?”

“Uh, not many?” Dean hazards a guess. 

“About three. So let me tell you this: you hurt him, and I kill you.”

“What the fuck?” Dean asks, taken aback, “why would I hurt him?”

“I dunno. Why does anyone hurt anyone? Because people are selfish bastards.”

“... says the narcissistic sociopath…” Dean mutters, “but that doesn’t answer my question. What do you think I’m going to do to him?”

“I don’t know. Lead him on? Fuck him for fun and then move on? Use him because you know he’d do anything for you?” Meg says. “I mean, those are just a few of the things _I’ve_ done to people. I’m sure you can come up with more.”

“Well I don’t do that shit, and I’d definitely never do anything like that to Cas. You’re not the only one who gives a shit about him, you know,” Dean says seriously. 

“Oooh, do you have _feelings_ for him?” Meg asks mockingly, “barf!” 

“What the fuck do you want from me, Meg?”

“Meet me in the supply closet in 5 minutes?” she says, running her foot up his leg under the table. 

“ _Jesus Christ,_ ” Dean sighs. “Never gonna happen.”

“Then answer my question.”

“What?”

“About Cas,” she glares, “do you ‘like’ like him?”

“What are you, 12?” Dean groans. 

“Answer,” Meg says firmly. 

“I’m not going to talk about that with you,” Dean says shaking his head, “in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t trust you.”

“Guess you’re not as dumb as your pretty face suggests,” Meg smirks. 

“Thanks?”

“But I’m going to take your refusal to answer as a ‘yes,’” she adds. 

“Fine,” he says defiantly, “you do that.”

* * *

That evening Missouri lets Dean call Sam. 

“Sammy, how are you doing? How’s your wrist?”

“It’s fine,” Sam answers nonchalantly. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Doc says I might get to come home soon,” Dean tells him. 

“Really? When?” Sam asks hopefully. 

“Not sure yet, but I really hope I can. How are things with dad?”

“Good. I mean, ‘cause I haven’t seen him recently. I’ve been spending most of my time at a friend’s house,” Sam says softly. 

“Good, that’s good, Sammy,” Dean replies happily. “Who’s the friend?”

“Oh, just this girl from my history class,” Sam answers shyly. 

“Oh, ‘just some girl,’ huh? You got a _girlfriend_?” Dean teases. 

“Shut up, Dean!” Sam exclaims, and Dean knows he’s probably blushing furiously. 

“Oooh, this girl got a name?”

“Jeez, we’re just friends,” Sam whines. 

“Fine! Tell me her name and I’ll quit teasing you,” Dean promises. 

“Ruby,” Sam answers grudgingly. 

“Well, you two behave yourselves,” Dean says. 

“Dean!”

* * *

After saying goodnight to Sam, Dean tentatively asks if he can call Cas. Missouri eyes him hard for a moment before answering. 

“Fine, you’ve got fifteen minutes, then it’s time for bed.” Dean smiles gratefully. 

“Hello? Dean?” Cas’s hopeful voice greets him. 

“Yeah, Cas, it’s me. You okay?” Dean asks softly, still a little taken aback by the warmth that spreads through his chest when he hears Castiel’s quiet voice. 

“Yeah, today was ok,” answers, “I pretty much spent the whole day in my room.”

“Sometimes those are the best days,” Dean replies. 

“Yeah, for sure,” Cas agrees. “What about you?”

“Today was pretty good, actually. Billie said I might get to go home soon,” Dean says with a grin.

“That’s great, Dean,” Castiel replies enthusiastically. 

“And it sounds like Sammy’s doin’ alright, so, I feel pretty good.”

“I’m glad,” Cas says sincerely. “Oh, and I called Gabe. I had to leave a message though, but he usually returns calls pretty fast.”

“Awesome! Thanks, Cas. You know,” Dean says, “even if it doesn’t work out, I’m still really grateful you even thought to try. I don’t have a lot of people offering to try and help me.”

“I know the feeling, and I could say the same to you,” Cas murmurs. “I’m really looking forward to seeing you again,” he adds softly. 

“Me too. Hey, I gotta go, but call me again tomorrow?” Dean asks hopefully. 

“Yeah, of course,” Castiel replies, still in disbelief that Dean really wants him to. 

“Cool, ‘night Cas,” Dean says quietly. 

“Goodnight Dean.”

* * *

Later, as Dean lays in bed, he can see Yellow Eyes standing against the wall opposite him, watching, waiting. Fear sparks through his chest like it always has, but he is _not_ gonna let this fuck him out of being released.

“Fuck off,” Dean murmurs. He is met with a sneer and a low chuckle, but ultimately rolls over, falling asleep with his pillow pulled over his head.


	17. Dear Prudence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The sun is up, the sky is blue  
>  It’s beautiful, and so are you_
> 
> -The Beatles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ❤️ this chapter, and I hope you do too! 🥰

That same evening:

Castiel returns his phone to its hiding place, running his conversation with Dean over and over again in his head. _This is too good to be true,_ he thinks to himself, but that doesn’t stop him from fantasizing wildly against his better judgement. Dean is just so amazing! Cas can’t make himself understand why the most gorgeous guy he’s ever laid eyes on is _actually_ interested in him - at least interested in being his friend. Of course Castiel wants more than friendship, but if that is all that Dean wants, Cas will happily oblige. But sometimes Cas feels like Dean might want more too. He thinks about the way Dean held on to him as they said goodbye, the way he’d held his hand when they had the opportunity; those moments definitely felt like _more_.

Castiel’s back aches. It burns every time he moves, cracking his scabbed skin. He has to wear only black tee shirts; anything else gets blood-stained immediately. The pills that María gave him help, but they also make him feel strange and sleepy. He takes another one though as he lays on his side in bed, thinking about Dean. Dean had promised to take him away from this nightmare, and although Castiel has his doubts about Dean’s ability to actually do so, he lets himself picture it: jumping into Dean’s car and holding on tight as Dean guns it, racing off to - well anywhere, really. Cas doesn’t care. Anywhere would be better than here, anywhere with Dean, at least.

* * *

The next morning Dean wakes to a knocking on his doorframe.

“Mornin’ sugar,” Missouri greets him, “sorry to wake you so early, but I’m having a bit of an issue getting a hold of your dad.”

“Huh?” Dean says groggily, rubbing his face as he sits up in bed. “Why are you tryin’ to reach him?”

“We need him to come sign some papers and take you home,” Missouri says with a smile.

“What? Really?” Dean asks, feeling like his heart is in his throat. This is sooner than he was expecting. 

“Yes, Dean, really,” Missouri nods, “any idea how we might get hold of him?” Dean groans. Of _course_ his dad would fuck this up for him. “We’ve left messages on his cell, your home phone, and at the number that was supposed to be his employer.”

“Those are the only numbers I know,” Dean says dejectedly. “Can’t I sign myself out if my therapist agrees?”

“Unfortunately, no. I’m sorry, Dean, but we need a guardian’s signature, and someone to come pick you up. We can’t just put you on the bus,” Missouri says sympathetically. “I suppose we’ll just keep trying, and hopefully we’ll hear back soon.”

“Wouldn’t hold my breath,” Dean murmurs. “Don’t think he wants me back.” Missouri just shakes her head.

“I don’t know about all that now,” she says. “Do you have any other family: aunt, uncle, grandparent, we could call instead?”

“No. Just him,” Dean replies coldly. “What happens if he never calls back?”

“Honestly, Dean, I’m not sure. We might have to get law enforcement involved to track him down, but I can’t remember a case where it actually came to that.”

“Shit,” Dean says quietly.

* * *

The day crawls by with no return call from John. Dean even talks to Sam, who says he hasn’t seen their dad in a few days. It isn’t until after dinner that Dean has an idea. Reluctantly, Missouri agrees.

“Hello?” a gruff voice answers after a number of rings.

“Bobby? It’s Dean, sorry to bother you so late,” Dean rushes to say, relieved that his boss picked up the phone.

“Dean! How’re you doin,’ son? I’ve been wonderin’ about you.”

“Good,” Dean replies, still in disbelief that there’s actually an adult out there who seems to genuinely care about him. “I’m doin’ good.”

“Good. You still in the hospital?” he asks.

“Yeah. That’s actually why I’m calling. I have a favor to ask, and I totally get it if you don’t want…” but Bobby cuts him off.

“Don’t be an idjit, what do you need, Dean?” Dean laughs a little, a nervous, relieved response.

“Uh, I was hoping maybe you could give me a ride home. They can’t get hold of my dad.”

“Of course,” Bobby answers, sounding a little relieved himself, “I’d be happy to. But where’s your dad at?”

“Dunno,” Dean shrugs. “Probably just doesn’t feel like returning the call. Again, I’m real sorry to bother you with this.”

“Don’t you worry about it; it’s no trouble. When do you need the ride?”

“Any time you’re able tomorrow.”

“8 tomorrow morning too early for you?”

“No!” Dean nearly gasps, “that’d be great! Thanks! Really, Bobby, thanks so much for doing this.”

“Lookin’ forward to seein’ you again, boy. Plus, I could use you again around the shop whenever you’re ready,” Bobby says sincerely. “See you tomorrow, Dean.”

“Thank you. See you tomorrow.” Dean hangs up and looks at Missouri. Before he can even open his mouth, she answers him.

“Yes, Dean, you can call Cas. 15 minutes,” she says, shaking her head. Dean can feel his face heating up. _It’s really that obvious?_ he wonders.

“Dean?” Castiel’s soft voice greets him.

“Cas! I’ll see you tomorrow,” Dean says enthusiastically, too impatient to explain anything first.

“What? Are you serious?” Castiel sounds cautiously optimistic.

“As a heart attack,” Dean affirms. “My boss is comin’ to get me at 8, and I’ll call you as soon as I get home and plug in my phone. That work for you? You’re not busy tomorrow, are you?”

“Am I busy?” Cas snorts, “busy with what? Hiding in my bedroom from my god-awful family? Seriously, Dean, it’s been awful. I can’t get out of here soon enough.” The brutal honesty in Cas’s voice pulls painfully at something in Dean’s chest.

“I promise, everything is gonna be okay,” he says. He sounds more confident than he feels.

“I think I actually believe you,” Cas says softly.

* * *

Dean feels like he’ll never fall asleep. He can’t wait to get home, to see Sammy, to drive his baby… to see Cas. And Cas sounded so happy about seeing him again. Cas always seems so sincere too, like he’s never told a lie in his life, and again, the anger in Dean flares, thinking about Cas’s family, how awfully they treat him even though he’s likely done little to nothing wrong, ever. He thinks back to the brief moment when he’d been in the presence of Castiel’s father. Their eyes had met momentarily, but Dean had felt an instant, stone cold hatred between the man and himself. He’d looked at Dean like Dean were roadkill, bloating in the hot summer sun. The disgust had been palpable. But that didn’t bother Dean; he didn’t give a damn what the sonofabitch thought of him, he only wants to beat the shit out of the guy for what he’s doing to Cas. Dean isn’t afraid of him either; he knows he probably should be, but he just isn’t. That suit-wearing, Bible-thumping, motherfucker can kiss his white-trash ass.

* * *

Dean is already awake when Missouri comes to wake him in the morning. He quickly dresses in some donated street clothes, and puts Cas’s drawings and ipod into the patient-belongings bag that Missouri hands him containing his wallet. Right on time, Missouri gets the call and leads him down a hallway where Bobby is waiting, looking rather out of place in the hospital wearing old overalls and a dirty ball cap. 

To Dean’s complete surprise, Bobby catches him in a fierce bear-hug. Dean can see Missouri grinning out of the corner of his eye. Bobby smells like engine grease and gasoline, and Dean can’t get enough of it, the scent cocoons him, making him feel at home. When Bobby finally lets him go, he meets Dean’s gaze, and Dean thinks it looks like there are tears in his eyes.

“Sure is good to see you, son,” Bobby says warmly, a hand on Dean’s shoulder. To his horror, Dean feels a catch in his throat, but manages to croak out a reply.

“You too, Bobby. Thanks again. And you too, Miss,” he says, turning to her, “thanks for everything.”

“Of course, Dean,” she says with a wide smile, “you take care of yourself now, you hear me? And tell Cas the same.” Dean can feel his cheeks reddening again as he nods, promising he will.

Outside, Dean climbs into Bobby’s truck, and almost can’t believe it’s real, he’s _really_ going home.

“Dean,” Bobby says, pausing before he raises the key to the ignition. “You know, it really wouldda torn me up if Sam hadn’t managed to save your ass.” Then there really are tears in his eyes, though he fights valiantly to hold them back. “I’m a lonely old bastard, and you’re the closest thing to a son I got. I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is: don’t you pull that shit again, hear me?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, tears in his own eyes, “I hear you, and I promise. Just like I promised Sammy. Never again.”

“Good,” Bobby says, patting Dean’s knee before he turns the key and Johnny Cash’s _Folsom Prison Blues_ pours out of the truck’s speakers. They listen in silence as Bobby drives, interrupted only when Dean gives directions to his house. When they arrive, Dean is thrilled to see the Impala, right where he’d left her, looking good as ever.

“Thanks again, Bobby,” he says when Bobby comes to a stop.

“Any time. You promise me you’ll call if you need anything?” Bobby asks gruffly.

“Yeah, promise,” Dean replies.

“Now, you take as much time as you need to get yourself back together, but whenever you’re ready to come back to work, you let me know, ‘kay?”

“I will. I really appreciate that,” Dean says. “It’s nice seeing you again.”

“You too. Talk to you soon.”

Dean hops out of the truck, making his way to the front door where he lets himself in with the spare key he’d hidden near the door. It’s surreal, being in the house again. It really hasn’t been that long, but it feels like it’s been a lifetime. He rushes to the bedroom where he’s found Sam set his keys on his nightstand. He grasps them appreciatively before locating his phone and plugging it in. As soon as it turns on he enters Cas in his contacts and dials.

“Dean,” Cas says breathlessly, “I’m so glad you called! Change of plans: my uncle is coming to pick me up _this afternoon_ instead of next week like they’d said.” Cas sounds panicked, frantic.

“Shit. What’s your address? I just got home, but I can be out of here in five minutes, probably less.”

“I don’t even know what to say,” Cas chokes after relaying his address.

“Don’t gotta say anything, Cas. I’m on my way.” 

“Wait! What’s the plan?” Cas asks quickly.

“Plan?” Dean asks. “Guess I didn’t have one. How about I drive up, leave the car running, honk the horn, you run out, get in the car, and we take off?”

“Okay, yeah, that sounds good,” Cas says nervously.

“‘Kay. See you soon.”

Dean changes his clothes in record time, pulling on an old pair of jeans, his favorite Zeppelin tee, and the red plaid flannel of his that he’d found next to Sam’s pillow - he actually vows not to tease Sam about that one. Before he knows it, he’s sliding into his baby’s front seat, revving her engine, and backing out of the driveway.

* * *

Dean speeds across town. Yeah, he’s worried about getting a ticket, but he’s more worried about Cas’s uncle getting there first. Also, he has to admit that driving again feels fucking fantastic. Before long, his GPS is leading him out of town into the wealthier suburbs, and not long after that, he’s turning onto a long, winding driveway, complete with a gate. Luckily, Cas had given him the code. His jaw drops a little as the palatial mansion that Cas’s family calls home comes into view.

“Holy mother of god,” Dean mutters to himself, as he passes garden beds full of roses and topiaries that have been sheared into the shapes of different animals. He doesn’t think he has felt more out of place in his entire life. Dean slows as he approaches the front of the house, rolling his window down and gazing around. He suddenly _really_ wishes he and Cas had planned this out better. Hesitantly, he lays on the horn a couple times, afraid he’s going to attract more than just Castiel’s attention. And then, to his horror, a gleaming white Cadillac pulls up the driveway behind him, just as a young woman in a bikini appears out of nowhere in front of him.

“Who the fuck are you?” the woman demands, and Dean fights the urge to run his eyes all over her.

“I’m Dean. Who the fuck are you?” Dean asks, honking his horn again, to the woman’s seeming annoyance. 

“Anael,” she says, sauntering over to his car and leaning suggestively against the hood as she takes a closer look at him. Dean gulps hard, trying even harder now _not_ to check out Cas’s sister.

“Who the fuck is this?” a new voice asks and Dean whips his head back to look at the man who has emerged from the Cadillac behind him.

“Dean,” Anael offers, “and it’s good to see you too, uncle Zach,” she adds sarcastically. The man’s face looks livid as he stares as Dean.

“Get the fuck away from him, you whore!” a third voice shouts, and Anael whips around, shouting back. To Dean’s horror, it’s Cas, and he’s on the fucking _roof,_ two stories up, outside what Dean can only assume is his bedroom window.

“Oh, shit,” Dean swears to himself, stomping the gas pedal and pulling onto the lawn beneath where Cas is standing. Dean throws the car in park and wrenches his door open, running out onto the lawn directly below Cas. 

“Castiel, you get back in this room this instant!” Dean hears a woman screech from inside the window. 

“Cas, what the fuck!?” Dean yells up at him.

“Dean! It’s so good to see you!” Cas yells back.

“Yeah, we can talk later! What the fuck, dude?! How’re you gonna get down?” The section of roof that Cas is on is unsettlingly narrow. If he were to fall, Dean thinks, he probably wouldn’t die, but it’s definitely high enough to break an ankle or worse. 

“Castiel!” the woman shrieks again.

“Castiel, you listen to your mother right now, or you will wish you’d never been born!” their uncle shouts, stomping across the yard, closer to Dean, but not quite approaching him.

“Cas, be careful!” Dean yells as he watches Cas eyeing a gutter and the attached downspout. “I don’t know if that’ll hold you!”

“I guess we’ll find out!” Cas replies. Dean notices now that Cas has his backpack on his back and bites his lip nervously, holding his breath as Cas crouches down, shimmying closer to the edge of the roof.

 _“Jesus fucking Christ,”_ Dean breathes nervously. Cas is so close! If he can just get close enough to the downspout, he might be able to climb down far enough to jump safely to the ground. But, of course, his foot slips, and Dean watches in horror as Cas rolls over the edge, managing to catch the gutter, which is now threatening to come off the side of the house.

“Hold on, Cas!” Dean screams, “try to get to the corner so you can climb down!”

“I don’t think I’m strong enough! And my hands are too sweaty!” Cas cries out, clearly terrified.

“I’ll try to catch you if you can’t make it!” Dean says as he tries to position himself in some way that would make it even slightly possibly. Then, with a horrible screeching of metal bending and nails being pulled from wood, the gutter pulls loose from the edge of the roof, and Cas loses his grip, falling hard into Dean’s arms. Dean loses his balance, falling backward and hitting his head on the ground decently hard, but he has his arms around Castiel’s torso, under his armpits.

“Oh my god! Dean! Are you okay?” Cas cries, looking up at Dean’s face.

“Uh, yeah, I think so, you?” Dean replies, bringing one of his hands up to the side of Castiel’s head, running his fingers through his soft, dark hair. Cas’s wide blue, blue eyes are red-ringed and tired, and Dean feels lost in them. 

“Yeah,” Cas breathes, turning his head gently against Dean’s hand. He would give anything to keep Dean’s gentle fingertips in his hair, his warm body beneath his own. For a moment it’s like they both forget what is happening around them, but Zachariah quickly puts an end to that.

“Get away from him, Castiel!” he yells, “and _you_ get out of here before I call the cops!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” Dean groans, untangling himself from Cas and struggling to his feet. He reaches a hand down to Cas who is still sitting, a little stunned, on the grass. As Cas stands, he falls forward into Dean with a soft cry. “Dude, Cas, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just help me to the car, and let’s get out of here,” Cas says through gritted teeth. Dean nods quickly, hefting a very surprised Castiel into his arms, and marching quickly toward the car. “I kinda thought you’d just help me walk,” Cas gasps, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck, “but this works too.”

“Figured this would be quicker,” Dean replies before wrenching open the passenger side door, and helping Cas slide onto the front seat.

“What in hell’s name do you think you’re doing?” Zachariah shouts, stomping toward them, but looking almost scared to come too close. “Castiel, if you don’t get out of that car this minute, you will sorely regret it!” Quickly, Cas rolls down his window.

“I highly doubt that,” he replies, glaring at his uncle.

“Fine! If you leave now, you’re out! Out of the will, no trust fund, nothing! And don’t even think about coming back,” Zachariah threatens, Cas’s mother, now out on the lawn as well, nodding in agreement.

“Shit, Cas,” Dean whispers urgently as he slides into the driver’s seat, “are you really sure this is what you want? You wanna give up all this, to run off with a nobody like me?” Dean’s gaze is so earnest it breaks Cas’s heart a little.

“Shut up, Dean,” Cas says with a small smile, his brilliantly blue eyes shining up at Dean, “yes, I’m sure. You have no idea. Get me out of here, please.”

“Alright,” Dean says with a grin, flipping on the stereo and throwing the car into reverse. “Fuck you, uncle Zach!” he yells as they spin around, leaving deep ruts in the perfect lawn and throwing mud up the side of the house. _Highway to Hell_ blares from the Impala’s speakers as Dean guns it, tearing down the long-ass driveway, away from the Novak home. To Castiel’s delight, he can see in the rear-view mirror that Dean’s spinning tires have showered his mother, uncle, and sister all with mud and clumps of grass, and he can’t stop laughing. In fact, he laughs until he is crying.

“Cas,” Dean says as he pulls out onto the highway, turning the music down a little, “are you alright?”

“Yeah, Dean, I’m great,” he says confusingly, with both a wide smile and falling tears on his face. “Sorry, don’t know why I’m crying. I’ve never felt better.”

“Don’t sweat it, Cas! I feel pretty damn good too,” Dean smiles back. 

“So, uh, what now?” Cas says next, attempting to dry his eyes, “I guess we didn’t really plan any of this.”

“Yeah… who needs plans though? In my experience they usually fall through anyway,” Dean responds casually.

“Don’t even know where I’m gonna go now,” Cas says softly.

“Well, I assumed you were coming with me,” Dean says, glancing over at Cas as he drives.

“Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Wait, you thought I was just gonna basically kidnap you from your house, and then what? Leave you along the side of the road somewhere?” Dean asks, taken aback.

“Well, I dunno, I guess I didn’t really think…” Cas says sheepishly. “Didn’t think much past getting away from… that situation.” 

“Yeah, guess I didn’t think much further than that myself. But, you’re welcome at my place,” Dean replies.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says, sniffing and wiping his nose on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “Your car _is_ really cool, by the way. It’s so cool you fixed it up all by yourself. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” Dean grins, unable to stop the blush from creeping up his neck and into his cheeks.

“Heh, thanks! Glad you like her; if you didn’t, I _would_ have to leave you on the side of the road,” he teases. 

As they hit a bump in the road, Dean notices Cas wince.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Actually, I think I may have fucked my ankle up pretty bad,” Cas mumbles.

“Shit,” Dean says. “We’re pretty close to my place. Wanna stop there and take a look?” Cas nods, and it's settled.

As they turn onto Dean’s street, he turns to Cas.

“I have to admit, after seeing your place, I’m sorta embarrassed about bringing you here. Our place is nothing fancy. I just barely keep the rent paid.”

“Dean,” Cas says firmly, “I promise you, I don’t care. Seriously, you could live in a cardboard box, and I’d still rather be here than back there.”

“Whatever you say,” Dean says disbelievingly as he pulls into the driveway, “welcome to _Casa Winchester_.” Quickly, he runs around to help Cas out of the car. Cas attempts to put some weight on his ankle, but immediately regrets the decision, yelping and stumbling into Dean again. Dean supports him on the injured side, and they clumsily make their way up to the front door.

“Dean, I don’t know what you’re talking about, this is nice,” Cas says, looking around as Dean helps him to the couch. Dean just shrugs it off, unable to accept that Cas actually thinks that.

Castiel kicks off his right shoe, but pauses, taking care with the left side, unable to kick it off without causing a lot of pain. 

“Let me take a look,” Dean says, kneeling down as Cas pulls his legs up onto the couch. “Take your sock off.” Cas looks embarrassed, but obeys, pulling his pant leg up a little too. Dean frowns as he looks at the ankle. It’s very swollen and beginning to bruise. “Can you move your foot and toes?” Dean asks gently. Cas does, but it’s very painful. “It could be broken,” Dean says, “but it could also just be sprained pretty bad. What do you think? I could take you to the hospital or something.” But Cas shakes his head. 

“I don’t wanna go anywhere that’s gonna ask questions,” Cas says firmly. Dean frowns again, but nods. Sighing, Dean stands.

“Yeah, I get it, Cas,” he says, wandering into the kitchen where he pulls a bag of frozen peas out of the freezer, wrapping it in a towel. “This should help some,” he says, resting the makeshift ice pack gently across Castiel’s ankle. “I’ll grab you some Tylenol or something too, hold on a sec,” he adds, heading down the hallway. He pauses before stepping into the bathroom. The last time he was in here, he had decided to end it all. For a moment, he takes a deep breath, thankful it hadn’t ended the way he had planned. 

Cas accepts the pills and glass of water Dean offers gratefully. 

“Besides the ankle, are you alright, Cas?” Dean asks, sitting by Castiel’s feet. Cas nods. “No, really,” Dean continues, “you said it’s been hell. What was going on?”

“You saw how they are, Dean,” Cas says quietly. “That’s how they always are. Threats, ordering me around, telling me what a fuck-up I am. I just can’t take it anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean says.

“Thanks to you, I’m out of there though,” Cas replies with a shy smile. “I will always be grateful.” Unsure what to say, Dean returns Cas’s smile. 

“You don’t deserve any of their shit,” Dean says after a while. 

“Maybe I’ll start believing that once I’m away from them for a while,” Cas murmurs. 

“Seriously, Cas, what do you think you’ve ever done to deserve that crap?” Dean asks, fixing him with a probing stare. 

“I dunno… I just always figured it must have been _something_. That was when I really believed in God though. I didn’t think he would let everything happen if I didn’t deserve it somehow.”

“But you know that’s crap now though, right? I mean only problem your parents really have with you is you’re gay, right?” Dean probes further. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Cas agrees softly. 

“And you know there’s nothing wrong with that, right?” Dean asks sincerely. 

“Yeah,” Cas nearly sighs. 

“Hey, what does that mean?” Dean asks, “doesn’t sound like you’re so sure about that.”

“I’m not sure sometimes… I try to tell myself that, but there’s always a part of me that just feels… _wrong._ ” Cas stares at his hands. A tear rolls down his cheek as he gently closes his eyes. Without saying a word, Dean stands from the couch, kneeling then on the floor in front of Castiel. 

“Cas,” he says softly, grasping one of Cas’s hands in his own. Castiel’s eyes flutter open in surprise. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it: there ain’t nothing wrong with you,” Dean says firmly as he gazes up into Cas’s weary eyes. 

Suddenly, Cas pushes himself forward, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck. “Thank you,” he sobs into Dean’s flannel, hoping he isn’t overstepping any boundaries, but Dean wraps his arms around Cas in return. Dean’s tight grip is painful, Dean being unaware of Castiel’s injured back, but Cas doesn’t care; he’ll ignore the pain if it means Dean’s holding him. 

Dean holds him until he has cried himself out, only letting go when he feels Cas’s body stop trembling. Cas is embarrassed, but Dean assures him he has no need to be. 

“You look tired,” Dean says. “You wanna go lay down? We could listen to music or something.”

“Yeah, sure,” Cas sniffs, trying not to let his heart race too quickly. 

“Probably be best if we stick to my room anyway, just in case dad comes home.” Cas nods, and Dean helps him off the couch, grabbing his backpack as well. Together they make their way down the hallway to Dean’s shared bedroom. Dean helps Cas to his bed where they sit. 

Cas’s eyes scan the room, taking in Dean’s band posters on the walls, a couple ribbons Sam had won at a science fair, and then the shelving unit made from cinder blocks and wood planks that holds Dean’s records and turntable. 

“Like I said, nothin’ fancy,” Dean mumbles adding, “don’t even have my own space. Gotta share with Sammy.” But Cas is grinning. 

“I like it. And you have actual records?” Cas says in awe. 

“Hell yeah,” Dean laughs, sliding to the floor to kneel in front of his record collection, partially to hide the blush creeping again into his cheeks. He grabs a stack of records and hands them to Cas to look through. 

“Woah, they’re heavier than I thought they’d be!” Cas says, and Dean laughs. He looks with great interest through the stack Dean handed him. The Doors, AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Pink Floyd, and of course, Led Zeppelin, but when he looks up, Dean is holding out another album: The Beatles’ White Album. 

“That was Mom’s” Dean says as Cas turns the album over in his hands, looking as if he’s discovered the Holy Grail. “You can play it if you want.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t know how,” Cas admits sheepishly, “would you show me?”

“Of course,” Dean grins, slipping the record from its sleeve with care. “You gotta be careful not to scratch them,” he explains as he shows Cas how to place the record on the turntable, carefully dropping the needle into place before he switches the player on. _Dear Prudence_ floods the room, and Cas can’t help smiling. 

“Awesome,” he says softly, and Dean, completely absorbed in the simple joy on Cas’s face, has to agree. 

_Dear Prudence, won't you come out to play  
Dear Prudence, greet the brand new day_

_The sun is up, the sky is blue  
It's beautiful and so are you  
Dear Prudence won't you come out to play_

_Dear Prudence open up your eyes  
Dear Prudence see the sunny skies_

_The wind is low the birds will sing  
That you are part of everything  
Dear Prudence won't you open up your eyes?_


	18. Here Comes the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting  
>  Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been clear_
> 
> _Here comes the sun do, do, do  
>  Here comes the sun  
> And I say it’s all right... _
> 
> -The Beatles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Discussion of self-harm
> 
> I may love this chapter even more than the last...

They play record after record as the hours pass into the afternoon, laughing and joking with each other. Cas stretches out on his stomach on Dean’s bed as Dean reclines on the floor, studying him as they converse. Neither of the two can recall the last time he felt as contented or relaxed.

Then a gentle knocking is at the door, and it cautiously opens.

“Dean!” Sammy shouts as he rushes in then, effectively tackling Dean, who is already splayed out on the floor. “I didn’t know you were coming home today!”

“Surprise!” Dean chokes, laughing even as Sam has knocked the wind out of him. Cas smiles, though he feels a little out of place. He doesn’t think Sam has even noticed him yet.

“It’s so good to be back,” Dean murmurs into Sam’s shaggy hair, as Sam still refuses to let go.

“Never want you to go again,” Sam says quietly in return.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Dean assures him warmly. “Hey, Sammy, this is my friend Cas, by the way,” Dean appends.

“Hi, Sam,” Cas says shyly, sitting up on the bed, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Hi,” Sam replies, equally shy.

“Cas is gonna be staying here for a while,” Dean explains. “He’s had some family shit goin’ on too lately.”

“Oh, okay,” Sam replies, smiling a little at Cas.

“Speaking of family, you still haven’t heard from dad lately?” Dean asks Sam, who shakes his head. “Huh, well if you do, mind not mentioning Cas? I’ll deal with it if it comes up.”

“Okay,” Sam agrees again.

“How’s your wrist?” Dean asks Sam next.

“It’s good,” Sam replies happily, “can’t wait to get the cast off though; it’s super itchy!” Dean laughs.

“Better hope Ruby’s not around when they take it off,” Dean teases, “’cause it’s gonna smell like death!”

“Deeean!” Sam whines, his cheeks turning red, and Cas smiles again, though feeling a little sad inside, wishing he had a sibling with whom he were so close.

“You ever gonna let me meet her?” Dean asks, raising his eyebrows.

“No way, man!” Sam exclaims, “you’ll just humiliate me in front of her!”

“Aww, I’d never do that!” Dean retorts, feigning offense.

“Sure you wouldn’t,” Sam bites back sarcastically.

“I thought you were ‘just friends,’ anyway,” Dean says slyly.

“We are,” Sam states defiantly.

“Whatever,” Dean shrugs, “if you ever need advice on pleasuring a woman, come to the master...” he ends, leaning back casually, his hands behind his head.

“Eww, BARF!” Sam grimaces, “don’t make me puke!”

“Who’s Ruby?” Cas chimes in after a moment.

"Sammy's _not_ girlfriend," Dean answers.

“Well, she _isn’t,_ ” Sam says, “she’s a friend from school.”

“Does she have an older sister?” Cas asks, oddly serious.

“Why? You interested?” Dean teases him, grinning, and Cas rolls his eyes.

“Yeah,” Sam says, “I think she has a sister and a brother, but she doesn’t really like to talk about them. I think they get in trouble a lot.”

“Do you know their names?” Cas presses on.

“No, why?” Sam asks.

“Oh, no reason,” Cas tries to say casually, “it’s not important... sorry, ignore me.” Dean gives him a funny look.

“So, uh, since I didn’t know you were coming home today, I sorta told Ruby I’d stay at her place tonight. I can call and cancel, though,” Sam says to Dean, “I feel bad bailing on your first night back home.”

“Nah, Sammy, it’s okay,” Dean assures him, “Cas n’ me are both pretty tired, so you won’t be missing much here. We can all do something fun tomorrow night instead if you want. Go out for dinner or something.”

“Sure!” Sam says enthusiastically.

“Invite Ruby,” Dean suggests and then adds, “I promise I won’t embarrass you,” before Sam can protest.

“Fine... If you really promise!” Sam says, unable to hide his excitement.

“I said ‘I promise,’ didn’t I?” Dean laughs. “Her mom’s really okay with you spending the night, though?”

“Yeah, as long as I sleep on the couch,” Sam replies, “and we have to leave her door open when we’re studying in her room.”

“Where have I heard that?” Dean groans, grinning over at Cas.

“What?” Sam asks.

“Nothing, just a hospital thing,” Dean says.

“Oh, is that where you guys met?” Sam asks next.

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Cas’s room was right across the hall from mine.”

After a while, Sam looks down at the watch Dean had given him one Christmas.

“I should probably get going,” he says. “I said I’d be there for dinner.”

“You need a ride?” Dean offers, but Sam shakes his head.

“She’s just a few blocks away,” he says, “but thanks!” Dean watches as Sam packs a few things into his backpack. He’s a little clumsy with his casted wrist, but he does pretty well. Then Dean follows him to the front door, telling Cas he’ll be right back.

Before Sam can reach for the doorknob, Dean catches him in a tight hug. Sam reciprocates.

“Sammy, I can’t even begin to thank you for what you did for me,” Dean murmurs, and Sam grips him even tighter.

“I’m just so glad you’re okay,” Sam replies. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too. Every single day.” Then Dean pulls back, looking into his little brother’s eyes. “Sammy, be honest with me, are you okay?”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks.

“Just... I know what happened must have been scary as hell,” Dean struggles to say. “I can’t imagine how terrified I would have been if I found you like that… I’m just so sorry, Sammy, and I want you to know it’s okay if you’re not okay. It’s okay if you’re still scared, or if you’re mad at me or whatever you’re goin’ through. You can talk to me about anything.”

“Okay, Dean,” Sam chokes, tears beginning to leak from his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Dean repeats, “I hope you can forgive me someday,” and then he’s crying too, hugging Sammy again fiercely.

“I’m not mad at you,” Sam says, muffled against Dean’s chest. “I’m mad at Dad. I know it’s all his fault.”

“Dad’s a sorry sonofabitch, but I still shouldn’t have done what I did. But I swear, Sammy, I’m gonna figure something out. I’m gonna keep you safe.” Dean can feel Sam nod against his chest. “Now have fun tonight, ’kay?”

“Okay,” Sam sniffs, wiping his eyes.

“See you tomorrow, Sammy,” Dean smiles, so thankful to be able to say that.

“Bye, Dean,” Sam says and gives him a final hug.

* * *

When Dean returns to the bedroom, Cas has fallen asleep. The scene, Cas asleep on his bed, makes him feel all warm and tingly inside, and he tries not to wake him as he walks into the room. Cas startles awake almost immediately, though, his eyes racing around the room as if he’s forgotten where he is.

“You okay?” Dean asks softly.

“Yeah,” Cas says, seeming to calm when his eyes fall on Dean. “Must have passed out for a minute.”

“Are you hungry?” Dean asks. “I could find us something to eat, or you could sleep some more. You got anything to sleep in? You can have my bed. I’ll sleep in Sammy’s tonight.”

“Yeah, something to eat sounds good,” Cas replies, “thank you.”

“You wanna shower? I mean, not that you need to,” Dean stumbles over his words, “but, you know, if you want to, you can while I figure out dinner.” Cas grins at Dean’s sheepishness. It’s too damn cute.

Cas tells him that actually, a shower does sound nice, and Dean shows him where the towels are and how to get the quirky shower to put out water that is somehow warmer than Arctic but cooler than magma.

“Holler if you need anything,” Dean says, shutting the bathroom door behind him and heading to the kitchen to scrounge for food. _Ramen noodles it is!_ he thinks to himself after a quick rummage through the cabinets. _Fancy ramen,_ he decides as he pours Cas’s ankle peas into the boiling water.

* * *

Meanwhile, Cas steps carefully into the shower, trying to balance mostly on his good foot. It’s nothing like the spotless, high-end shower he had in his bedroom, but the way he feels here, with Dean, makes it a million times better. He still feels like a ball of anxiety, but he is at least pretty sure he can sleep through the night without fearing for his safety. At least here, he isn’t alone.

Dean seems happy to have him here too, though his joking with Sam reminded Cas once more that Dean seems pretty into women. He fights against the sinking feeling it causes in his chest, reminding himself how lucky he is to have Dean in his life, even if they’re never more than merely friends.

When he finishes showering, he can hear Dean still moving around in the kitchen. He hobbles across the hall in his towel before pulling on his boxers and pajama pants as quickly as he can manage. He’s halfway through pulling his tee-shirt gingerly over his back when Dean appears in the doorway behind him.

“Cas!” Dean gasps, clearly horrified at what he’s seen, “what the fuck?!”

Castiel can’t even look at him. He sinks to a seat on the bed instead, tears flooding his eyes as shame burns his face. He buries his face in his hands.

“Cas?” Dean says softly then, setting the two bowls he is carrying down next to his turntable. “Cas, what happened? Who did that to you?” But Cas doesn’t answer; he just cries harder as he shakes his head. “Cas, please, talk to me,” Dean begs.

“I… I didn’t want you to see,” Cas murmurs miserably.

“But I did, and now I gotta know what happened. Please, Cas.” Dean reaches out, gently pulling one of Cas’s hands down from his face. “Cas, look at me,” he says. “My dad has beaten the shit out of me countless times, but my back has _never_ looked like that.” Cas looks away from him again. “Cas, you gotta tell someone. Missouri…” But Castiel cuts him off sharply.

“Dean, _you_ of all people should understand why I _can’t,_ ” Cas bites back, jerking his wrist from Dean’s hand. Dean stares at him for a moment, wistfully.

“You’re… you’re right, Cas,” Dean says eventually, sitting down beside him. “I’m sorry.” Tentatively, Dean reaches for Castiel’s hand, grasping it tenderly. To Dean’s relief, Cas accepts it. Unexpectedly, Cas turns to him, all but collapsing into his arms, his tears falling on Dean’s shoulder. Dean holds him as tightly as he can without touching his back, one arm around Cas’s neck, the other looped up under his shoulder. Dean runs his fingers through the hair at the nape of Cas’s neck. “I’m so sorry, Cas,” he whispers as Cas sobs into his shoulder, “I had no idea it was this bad.”

“At one point I… I thought maybe he was gonna kill me,” Cas chokes out, pressing his face into Dean’s flannel.

 _“Fuck,”_ Dean sighs helplessly, tears beginning to roll down his own cheeks. “You’re safe now, Cas,” he assures softly, wishing he could take the hurt away.

The intensity of the moment is not lost on Dean. He realizes now that he is likely one of very few people who knows the truth about Castiel’s life, and Dean fears what else he may someday discover. Rage boils just beneath his surface, threatening to erupt as he rests his forehead against the top of Cas’s head, just trying to breathe and steady himself.

Cas, in turn, feels like he is drowning. He clings to Dean as if he has no choice. He is scared and humiliated, and he can hardly bring himself to look Dean in the eye, but Dean is the only person to have ever held him like this. His arms are unexpectedly strong, and Cas feels like just maybe Dean can be trusted with all the shit he has kept locked away for so long.

“Cas?” Dean breathes after an immeasurable time. Cas takes a deep, shuddering breath, still unable to bring himself to look up at Dean. Gently, Dean loosens his grip, running his hand once more over Castiel’s hair and down his arm.

“Can I see? Will you show me?” Dean asks quietly, “please?”

“Please don’t make me,” Castiel rasps, his voice wrecked.

“I won’t _make_ you do anything,” Dean promises, “I just wanna help.” Cas sits frozen still, curled in on himself, wringing his hands together in anxiety. He _can’t_ show Dean; he just _can’t_. It’s too humiliating, too revealing, his vulnerability on stark display.

“I’ll go first,” Dean offers as if he can hear the panicked thoughts in Castiel’s head. Gingerly, he peels the bandage off of his right palm, revealing the scabby remains of a deep laceration, a few stitches remaining in place, not quite ready to be removed.

“Look,” Dean says, offering his hand to Cas, who takes it tentatively in both of his own. “I did that the last time I fought with my dad... the day I was hospitalized.” Cas swallows hard, his graceful fingers running over the unscathed portions of Dean’s hand. “Did it with a piece of broken bottle Dad chucked at my head.” Dean takes a deep breath, preparing to do something he’s never done before. After a last moment of hesitation, he straightens up, shrugging the flannel shirt from his shoulders and withdrawing his bandaged arms from the sleeves. With imperceptibly trembling hands, Dean begins to unwrap one arm and then the other as Cas watches curiously, unaware that he is holding his breath. 

“Look,” Dean repeats, his voice a hoarse whisper. Dean has never before invited another person into his pain, his scars, literal and figurative, a grim exhibition. Cas can feel it, something immense transpiring between the two of them, and he bites his lip as his eyes trace the red, raised trails that blaze across Dean’s skin. There are stitches in a couple places and thin white lines in others, years-old scars that have long since healed, albeit only physically. 

“Dean,” Castiel whispers, finally bringing himself to look up into those brilliant, green eyes. “I...” Cas begins but hesitates. 

“Wanna show you one more thing,” Dean says quietly. He stands and tugs the bed sheet back in one place. Despite Sam’s best efforts, rust-colored stains remain evident, darker in some spots, faint in others. 

“I did this,” Dean says finally, “you got nothing to be ashamed of.” Cas’s eyes are wide when they lock on Dean’s. 

“Why are you sharing this with me?” Cas asks, his voice trembling, telling Dean that his friend fully recognizes the significance of his revelation. 

“I trust you,” Dean murmurs. “Want you to trust me too. Don’t want you feelin’ alone anymore.” Cas licks his lips unconsciously, overcome by emotion. Slowly, he nods his head. 

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, Dean; I trust you.” Cas reaches for the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up over his head, wincing as he does. Though he remains clothed from the waist down, Cas feels stripped entirely bare as he turns to let Dean view his back. He can hear Dean let out a huff of air as he takes in the damage. Then, tremulously, Cas admits, “it was my uncle.”

“Holy fucking hell,” Dean swears softly. “Does it... uh... does it go all the way down?” he asks hesitantly. 

“Yeah,” Cas says truthfully, “to the back of my knees.” Dean lets out another heavy breath but doesn’t ask to see any more, for which Cas is grateful. 

“Cas, some of these marks look pretty red, like they could be getting infected,” Dean says, concerned. 

“I _can’t_ go to a doctor, ” Cas replies firmly. 

“I know,” Dean assures him, “and I won’t pressure you about that, I swear, but will you let me help keep ’em cleaned out?” Cas nods his consent. “Okay, hold on a sec,” Dean says and walks briskly across the hall to dig through the bathroom cabinet. When he returns, he is carrying a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a washcloth, and a tube of antibiotic ointment. 

“You ready, Cas?” Dean asks, sitting behind him on the edge of the bed. 

“Yeah,” Castiel answers. 

Dean splashes some peroxide over the first of the concerning wounds, and Cas flinches violently.

“Sorry,” Dean says softly, pausing. “That hurt?”

“No, it’s okay, just cold,” Cas explains, trying to hold still for the next one. Dean is very gentle, carefully patting each spot dry before moving on to the next. When he is satisfied that they are clean, Dean spreads ointment over each of the raw-looking stripes. 

“You alright leaving your shirt off to let that soak in a bit?” Dean asks, and Cas nods again. As Dean takes the supplies back to the bathroom, Cas pulls a blanket up to his chest, hugging it to himself, a little dazed by everything that has just occurred. 

“Thank you,” Castiel speaks softly when Dean returns. “You didn’t have to do that... or any of what you’ve done for me, really.”

“I know,” Dean says plainly, sitting next to him again, close enough their knees are touching. Dean offers up his hand again like he had back in Cas’s room in the hospital, and Cas grins, taking it. Castiel’s heart flutters as he stares at Dean’s hand in his. It _has_ to mean more, he thinks.

“Cas,” Dean asks after a while, “does this shit happen often?” He doesn’t want to pry, to demand more of Cas than Cas is ready to give, but he wants to know, to understand. 

“Not this bad,” Cas responds. 

“What happened this time?” 

Cas doesn’t want to admit the truth; he knows that Dean will feel responsible.

“I guess... I dunno, they could tell somehow that it’s not working,” Cas stammers.

“What’s not working?” Dean asks incredulously, “sending you to a psych ward to ‘turn you?’ Of course that’s not gonna fuckin’ work!” Dean manages to reel himself in, but Cas can sense the anger burning in Dean, anger that Dean feels on Cas’s behalf, and it feels like nothing he’s experienced before.

“I’m sorry if I caused any of this,” Dean says next, revealing that he feels exactly as Cas had feared he would. “I knew I’d fucked up as soon as your dad looked at me.”

“No, Dean,” Cas says emphatically, shaking his head, “it’s not your fault. This probably sounds stupid, but that hug really meant a lot to me.”

“S’ not stupid,” Dean asserts, “meant a lot to me too.”

“Oh,” Cas states, his mind wiped blank.

“Oh,” Dean teases him gently before losing himself in the boundless, blue eyes in front of him, and he can’t deny to himself any longer that what he feels for Cas is more than merely platonic. 

“Goddamn, Cas,” Dean utters almost to himself.

“What?” Cas asks as he feels something like electricity crackling in the air around them.

“I just... can’t believe that no one’s ever kissed you.” Dean’s words ring in Cas’s ears, and he can’t fully believe he’s heard them correctly. 

“I, uh...” Castiel stutters, devoid of any intelligent thought. 

“I could change that,” Dean’s susurrant voice states as Castiel’s mind struggles to keep pace. “Want me to?” Dumbstruck, Cas gives a quick jerk of his head, a tiny nod meant to convey _more than anything, Dean._

Castiel’s heart hammers as Dean leans in close, bringing his hands up to cradle Cas’s face tenderly. Cas feels the light scratch of Dean’s stitches against his cheek as Dean’s thumbs, roughened by scrapyard work, brush lightly over his skin. And then Dean’s lips are against his, soft but firm, confident, as though Dean knows _exactly_ what he’s doing. It’s perfect: sweet and sensitive, everything Cas thinks a first kiss _should_ be. It leaves him breathless, but also _scared_ , afraid maybe Dean did it solely out of pity. But Dean kisses him again. The second kiss is deeper, searching. Dean leans into Cas, his hands more insistent, pulling Cas close, and Cas wants to let go, to just give in and let Dean take him wherever they’re heading, but he can’t, not yet.

“Wait,” Castiel gasps, pulling back just a fraction of a bit, feeling altogether like he is fighting a law of physics. 

“What’s wrong?” Dean whispers, his voice laced with concern. “You wanna stop?” Cas allows his eyes to fall closed as he takes a steadying breath.

“No, of course I don’t,” Castiel asserts, “but I can’t do this unless you really mean it.” 

“Mean what?” Dean answers with a question.

“The kiss,” Cas clarifies, sensing his cheeks tinging pink, “I can’t keep kissing you if it isn’t really what you want.” Castiel fights, but he can feel panic creeping into his chest, ignited by self-doubt.

“Did it seem like I didn’t want to do that?” Dean asks sincerely with a hint of a smile on his perfect lips.

“No,” Cas says quickly, “I just... I thought maybe you just felt sorry for me. I didn’t really think you had any interest in guys.” Now he’s really embarrassing himself, but Dean laughs kindly.

“Cas,” Dean says honestly, “I didn’t really think I did either - you know, have, uh, interest in guys, or whatever, but I don’t ‘pity kiss’ people. I’ve been thinking for a while now that maybe I wanted to do that, and now that I have, I _know_ it’s what I want.”

 _"Really?"_ Cas asks disbelievingly. He doesn’t think Dean is lying, but he just can’t believe he’s telling the truth either.

“Cas,” Dean says seriously, taking both of his hands, “I think you’re great. You’re sincere and thoughtful. You’re so talented, and you’re smart, probably too smart for me, and you don’t deserve any of the bullshit you’ve been dealt. You deserve someone who’s gonna treat you good, and I know I’m a fuck up, but I think I could treat you right. That’s what I think. Really.” When Dean finishes, Cas is frozen, tears leaving all-too-familiar tracks down his cheeks.

“Dean,” Cas says so softly he’s nearly inaudible, “I...” but he doesn’t know what to say, so he leans in again, cautiously, as if one wrong move will blow this all to hell.

Their lips meet again, and Dean smiles into the kiss, savoring Cas, his chest filling with relief, relief from the constant questioning that had consumed his mind in the past days. He has an answer now: yes. Yes, he wants Castiel. Gently, he places his hands at Cas’s waist, tugging him forward, encouraging Cas to kiss him harder. Cas is so new, an enrapturing, novel experience for Dean. It is evident that Castiel has never done this before, which renders him all the more endearing, not to mention exciting, to Dean.

Gradually, Castiel falls into Dean’s rhythm, turning his head the way Dean guides it, opening his mouth with a thrill as Dean requests it with a light flick of his tongue. As Dean pulls him closer, he moves like putty in Dean’s hands, allowing Dean to mold him into any shape he desires. Dean brings him onto his lap, Cas straddling him, face to face as Dean continues to hold on to him firmly at the waist. Cas clings to Dean’s shirt before running his hands up into Dean’s sandy-colored hair. When he opens his eyes, he can see Dean’s freckles so clearly, sprinkled across the bridge of his flawless nose, and Dean’s eyelashes, which bolster Castiel’s belief that Dean’s eyes are the prettiest he’s ever seen. 

Dean leans back, laying down, pulling Castiel along with him, inciting a desire deep in Cas’s belly that he isn’t sure he can control. Dean’s hands on his body, running along his arms and neck, grasping his waist, tugging at his hair, make him feel things that he has only fantasized about, but suddenly a hesitance to proceed further begins to gnaw at a little space inside his chest. He feels he could kiss Dean forever; he just hopes Dean is content with that for at least a little while. 

To Castiel’s relief, it seems that Dean _is_ content with kisses and lingering touches this evening. They settle in after a while, Cas curled into Dean’s side, his head resting on Dean’s shoulder, his hand splayed across Dean’s chest. Dean tugs a blanket carefully up over them, kissing Cas’s forehead with a smile on his lips. 

“How’s this?” Dean asks, giving Cas another quick kiss. 

“Perfect,” Cas breathes in reply, and Dean huffs a little laugh, tightening his grip by a degree. 

“So... Meg _was_ telling the truth about one thing,” Dean laughs softly. 

“Ugh,” Cas groans.

“What? Wasn’t she?” Dean asks teasingly before becoming sincere, almost shy. “ _Were_ you interested in me for a while?”

“Yes,” Cas admits softly, “I’ve had a crush on you from day one.” 

“Awesome,” Dean replies lamely for lack of any better words. 

“Oh shit!” Cas says abruptly, startling Dean.

“What? What’s wrong?” Dean asks. 

“Meg,” Cas says, “I, uh, I’m pretty sure she said something about a sister named Ruby.” He _hates_ to ruin this moment with Dean, but he feels that keeping the knowledge to himself any longer would be tantamount to an act of betrayal. “I wanted to say something earlier, but not in front of Sam,” Cas apologizes.

“Fuck,” Dean sighs. “Meg was still at the hospital when I left, so maybe she’s still there now. Guess there’s another shitty talk I have to have with Sammy...”

“I’m sorry... maybe Ruby is okay, though. Sounds like she doesn’t like associating with her siblings too much,” Cas offers.

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean says, not sounding particularly convinced. “I don’t wanna ruin this for Sam if he really likes the girl, but sometimes I worry he’s too trusting, too impressionable. I don’t want him getting into any trouble.”

“It’s obvious that you mean the world to him, Dean,” Castiel states, “I bet he really respects your opinion. Maybe he’ll listen to you if it seems like Ruby is bad news.” 

“I hope you’re right, Cas,” Dean says softly, pressing his lips to Cas’s temple. Castiel smiles up at him, blue eyes twinkling in the dimming light, and Dean feels another rush of hope, an unfamiliar burst of happiness in his chest. “Fuck am I happy I met you...” Dean breathes into his hair.

“You have no fucking clue,” Cas replies with a grin. 

“Hey,” Dean says after another few moments pass, “I almost forgot, but I made dinner. How does a cold bowl of ramen sound?”

“Awesome,” Cas smirks, and Dean pushes himself up from the bed to retrieve the two bowls he had set down earlier. 

Together they sit side by side on the edge of the bed, bowls in hands, eating the now-soggy, cold noodles. To Cas, however, the meal is unparalleled, his buoyant mood convincing him it is the finest meal he has ever shared.

Afterward, the two brush their teeth and return to the bedroom where Dean puts on another of his mom’s Beatles records. He turns the volume low and switches off the light. A streetlamp illuminates a narrow stripe through the window shades, just enough that they can make out each others’ features in the dark as they lay on their sides, just inches apart. As much as Castiel wishes he could “play it cool,” he knows he can’t, the anxious, obsessive side of him begging for an answer to the question poised precariously on the tip of his tongue. 

“Dean?” he asks apprehensively.

“What’s up, Cas?” Dean asks calmy, intertwining their fingers.

“I just have to know, and I’m sorry, and I understand if it freaks you out, or you don’t wanna put a label on it or whatever -” Cas rambles before Dean gently cuts him off.

“What do you wanna know?”

“What are we? ...to you, I mean, and if you don’t like labels, that’s okay, I get it, my mind just, I just... I dunno, I’m sorry,” Cas stumbles on again before Dean silences him with a gentle brush of his lips.

“Cas, you’re sweet, but I’m not afraid of labels, if that’s what you want,” Dean grins in the faint light.

“Oh,” Cas lets out a surprised breath. “You don’t mind?”

“No, I don’t mind,” Dean laughs. “So, what do you wanna call it? You want to be my _boyfriend_ , Cas?” Castiel opens his mouth to reply, but he is struck speechless.

“Should I take your silence as a ‘yes?’” Dean askes amusedly, and Cas nods before throwing his arms around Dean’s neck and burying his face in the short hair on the side of Dean’s head. 

“I know this probably sounds really pathetic,” Cas murmurs, “but I never thought anyone would actually want this with me.”

“Not pathetic,” Dean corrects, “just seriously ridiculous; you’re amazing, Cas. I hope you’ll believe me someday.”

“I’ll have you take your word for it for now,” Cas replies softly. Affectionately, Dean pulls Cas into him again, pressing their lips together, tasting him. He smoothes over Cas’s hair with his palm, kissing down his neck as Cas shudders subtly, before returning to his lips. 

The warmth Dean feels as Cas opens up to him is beyond incredible, like a cocoon he could crawl inside and remain perfectly content without ever emerging. Now that Dean has accepted it, Cas’s “maleness” no longer matters; it all seems so natural, like this is the way he has been meant to feel all along. As cliché as it may be, Dean resolves that if it’s he and Cas “against the world,” they may just come out on top after all. 

In Dean’s arms, Cas breathes a contented sigh, snuggling closer, warding off the slight chill in the air. Dean holds Cas securely, and as _Here Comes the Sun_ plays gently in the background, the two fall peacefully asleep, neither consumed by the despairing nocturnal speculation that each has become so accustomed to.

_Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting  
Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been clear_

_Here comes the sun do, do, do_  
Here comes the sun  
And I say it’s all right... 


	19. Stairway to Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There's a feeling I get when I look to the west  
>  And my spirit is crying for leaving_
> 
> -Led Zeppelin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: The usual. Mentions of physical abuse, suicide, drug use, anxiety/panic attacks, etc. 
> 
> My writing about anti-depressant discontinuation syndrome (withdrawal) comes from personal experience. Back in 2016 I foolishly stopped taking my medication without weaning off of it, a common occurrence that happens when people think "oh, I feel better now, so I don't need this anymore." Well, it was abso-fucking-lutely awful. Calling out "sick" to work because you literally can't stop crying or get out of bed is embarrassing, so of course, I lied and "had the flu" that week. I am extremely grateful for my partner who amazingly stuck with me even though we hadn't been dating that long; he drove an hour each way to come be with me when I couldn't crawl out of bed or feed myself. Five years later, we recently got engaged, so happy ending to that tale of woe. 
> 
> Anyway, this all to say, antidepressant withdrawal is no joke. I learned my lesson the hard way, and I wasn't even on an incredibly high dose. I've read multiple places that getting off of Effexor can be as difficult, if not more so, as getting off of heroin. Well, I can't speak to that personally, as I've never done heroin, but I can say it definitely sucks. It took weeks to get back on my meds with the help of a medical professional, as well as seeking psychological help to deal with the clinical depression the whole situation triggered. I've been back on my meds for years now and am doing well, however, I will be seeking medical help soon to see about weaning off of the Effexor and replacing it with something that is approved for use during pregnancy... not because I'm pregnant, but because I would like to be someday, and want to have this all ironed out before having to deal with crazy hormonal mood swings. ANYWAY, that's probably more than any of you needed/cared to know, but I guess aside from writing my silly little stories, I'd like to just put out there that if you're struggling with depression or any other mental illness, you're not alone, and please don't hesitate to seek help, use medications, or whatever you need to be well. And for fucks' sake, if you're on meds, keep taking them! ;) *hugs*

Castiel wakes with a start as the first light of morning creeps in through the blinds. He had been in the middle of an intense dream; he can’t remember what it was about, but it left a sick feeling in his gut. His head is pounding. Only when he rolls onto his side and comes face to face with Dean is he able to quell the burgeoning panic in his chest. Cas smiles to himself, Dean’s words from the night before playing in his mind. Gradually, Dean begins to stir, mumbling something to himself as he continues to doze. Cas inches closer, desperate to feel Dean’s arms around him again, hoping they will protect him from the creeping feeling of dread pricking at the backs of his eyes. 

Castiel reaches out with trembling fingers, interlacing them with Dean’s. Then Dean’s eyes flutter open, all long lashes and sparkling green like a freakin’ Disney princess. He pulls Cas in close, kissing his temple before nuzzling into his neck, murmuring “too early...” to Cas’s skin. Cas takes a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes, meditating on Dean’s soft exhalations. Cas’s chest hurts, his body feels _wrong_ , but at Dean’s side, maybe he’ll be okay. Maybe; but he’s beginning to feel paralyzed, unable to gain any control over the hammering of his heart or increasing pain in his head. 

Suddenly, the door flies open, nearly giving Cas a heart attack.

“Sorry, I forgot my math book, and I’m running late!” It’s Sam, rushing in to dig around under his bed.

“Jesus, Sammy!” Dean groans at being jerked from sleep.

“Oh!” Sam says, his face turning a brilliant pink as he realizes his brother is in bed with his arms around another guy. “Uh, sorry, I...” 

Castiel, likewise, is at a loss for words.

“Take a picture; it’ll last longer,” Dean smirks as Sam continues to stare, seemingly frozen in place.

“I, uh, oh, sorry,” Sam stutters, quickly turning to resume his search.

“You need a ride?” Dean then asks, all teasing aside. 

“You wouldn’t mind?” Sam replies, straightening up with his book in hand.

“‘Course not,” Dean assures him. “You wanna come with or stay here?” he asks, turning to Cas, who looks rather pale. “I won’t be gone long.”

“I... I’ll come with you,” Cas murmurs, the thought of being alone suddenly terrifying him. 

“You alright?” Dean says softly, sensing the unease in Cas.

“Yeah,” Cas answers quickly, “I’m fine.” Dean isn’t convinced, but he nods and kisses Cas’s lips quickly, causing Sam’s eyes to go even wider than they had already been. But that is nothing compared to when Castiel sits up, and the blankets fall from his shoulders.

“What happened to your back?” Sam asks suddenly, shocked, before he even knew the words had left his mouth. Dean glares at him over Cas’s shoulder, shaking his head tersely. “I mean, sorry, nevermind,” and Sam quickly makes his exit.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean says quickly as Castiel begins to fall apart in front of him.

“It’s okay,” Cas chokes, “I just... I don’t feel very good.”

“You don’t have to come with me,” Dean says softly, “you can stay here and rest if you want.” But Cas shakes his head.

“No,” he says, “I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

“Oh,” Dean says, his brow furrowing, “Cas, what’s going on?”

“I... I don’t really know, I just... my head hurts, and my chest hurts, and I just feel really shaky.”

“Shit, what can I do?” Dean asks, taking his hand. “You wanna go to the hospital? That sounds really bad.”

“No, I’m sure it’s nothing,” Cas deflects weakly. “Sam’s waiting for you.” Dean’s eyes linger on his for a moment.

“Alright, but tell me if it gets worse,” Dean says as he climbs out of bed and hands Cas his shirt.

“I will,” Cas promises and then asks, “Dean, there’s a bottle of pills in the top of my backpack; could you hand it to me?” Dean nods.

“Vicodin?” Dean questions as he hands them over.

“Yeah, my housekeeper stole them from my mom for me after she saw my back,” Cas explains quietly and sees a grin flit across Dean’s face. “Hoping it’ll help with my ankle too.” 

“Shit! I almost forgot about your ankle,” Dean says before filling a glass of water for Cas across the hall. “Well, I’m glad you had at least one person looking out for you,” he says as he hands Cas the water and watches him swallow one of the pills. 

“She’s known me since I was a baby, and she’s been more of a mother than my own mother has ever been,” Cas remarks sadly. Quickly they dress and are ready to go, and Dean helps Cas to his feet.

“I could carry you if your ankle is too fucked up.” Dean offers.

“Thanks, but I don’t wanna look even more pathetic than I already do,” Cas groans but accepts Dean’s arm to lean against and take at least a little weight off his ankle.

In the living room, they find Sam talking to a dark-haired girl who looks _almost_ as love-sick as he does, and Cas is doubly glad he didn’t accept Dean’s offer to carry him.

“Uh, Ruby,” Sam says nervously, “this is Dean and his... and Cas.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Ruby says softly. She doesn’t _seem_ like a psychopath, Dean thinks.

“Hiya,” Dean says with a grin, “oh, and Sam, the term is ‘boyfriend,’” he adds with a wink, causing Sam and Cas both to flush red. Dean laughs at the awkward silence he has created and pushes past Sam to the door. 

Dean slides into the driver’s seat of the Impala, Cas at his side, and Sam and Ruby in the back. 

“Nice car,” Ruby says, and Dean grins. Maybe she’s not so bad. 

“Thanks! She’s got good taste,” Dean says, glancing at Sam in the rearview mirror. Before popping in a Zeppelin mixtape and revving the engine as he backs out of the driveway and heads toward Sam’s school.

When they arrive, Ruby thanks Dean for the ride, Sam says his goodbyes, and Dean watches as Sam and Ruby walk toward the school’s entrance, greeted by a group of Sam’s friends who seem to openly admire Baby. 

“Where to now, Cas?” Dean asks, turning to him as Sam and Ruby disappear into the school. “You hungry? Don’t got much at home, but I know a place with cheap breakfast burritos. Cas?” he says again when Cas doesn’t respond.

“Oh, sorry, I dunno. Not very hungry,” Cas mumbles.

“Maybe you’ll feel better if you eat something, though,” Dean suggests, and Cas assents. 

Dean pulls into a gas station, fills his tank, and goes in to pay. When he returns, he hands Cas a sack with a couple of burritos in it, and Cas thanks him. Dean pulls back onto the road and doesn’t drive long before he pulls off onto a gravel road that heads off into some trees. Before long, he comes to a clearing and parks off to the side of the road, where they have a nice view of an open grassy area with a pond.

“I like it here,” Dean says, turning off the car and reaching for a burrito. “It’s nice and quiet,” he adds. After some prompting from Dean, Cas unwraps his burrito as well, choking down as much as he can, but his mouth feels dry, and he can hardly taste it.

“Cas, how are you feeling now?” Dean asks. Cas has been unusually quiet all morning.

“I feel like I can’t catch my breath,” he answers, turning watery blue eyes on Dean, who scoots closer to him on the front seat, tugging Cas into his arms. Cas melts in his embrace, collapsing against his chest. 

“Dean,” Cas suddenly sobs, “I’m so sorry...”

“What?” Dean replies, startled. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“I’m sure this isn’t what you wanted from me,” Cas murmurs.

“What I wanted from you?” Dean says in disbelief, “what are you talking about?”

“I’m such a mess,” Cas says. 

“Cas, I don’t understand what’s going on,” Dean says softly, “but I wanna help. Is there anything I can do? Are you sick? Has this happened before?”

“I... I don’t know. It feels kind of like a panic attack, but it’s different.”

“You said you take meds, right? Is there something you can take that would help?” Dean asks, running his fingers through the hair at the nape of Castiel’s neck. Cas shakes his head.

“I ran out of my prescription a day or two ago, and I couldn’t get it refilled.”

“What? Why not?”

“I can’t go in to see my doctor. My parents wouldn’t take me, and I definitely can’t go now; I’m afraid they’d tell my parents I was there or something.”

“Cas, I don’t think they can do that,” Dean says.

“Well, I don’t want to risk it. I don’t want anyone to know where I am in case my family is looking for me. I know they told me not to try coming back, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve changed their minds and want to get me back under their control.” 

“Okay,” Dean concedes. “What were you taking?”

“Effexor,” Cas answers, and Dean pulls out his phone.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asks after a while.

“A little research.”

“Huh?” Cas asks, looking up at Dean. After a minute or two, Dean looks back at him.

“From what I just read, it seems like you’re going through withdrawal. That’s not the kind of medication you can just stop taking cold-turkey. Were you on a high dose?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe,” Cas says, biting his lip. “Is it dangerous?” he asks, “like, could I have a heart attack or something?” 

“No, I don’t think so,” Dean says, “just sounds like you’re gonna be miserable for a while.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, “but, Cas, I’ll be here with you.”

“Thank you,” Cas sniffs as tears flow steadily down his cheeks. “Can we go home? If that’s okay with you.” Dean smiles at Cas’s referring to his house as “home.”

“Yeah, of course,” he says, brushing the tears from Cas’s cheeks with his thumbs before giving him a gentle kiss.

* * *

When they arrive at Dean’s house, Dean leads Castiel back to the bedroom.

“Do you mind taking your shirt off again?” Dean asks. “I just want to put some more stuff on your back.” Cas nods, and Dean retrieves the antibiotic ointment. Sitting behind Cas, he spreads the ointment gently over each wound. “I think they’re already looking a little less red,” Dean offers, putting the cap back on the tube and crawling up to lay down on the bed. He reaches for Cas, who eagerly curls up in his arms.

“And don’t worry about Sam,” Dean says quietly, “he won’t say anything about what he saw. I’m sure he feels bad about even saying something to you.” Dean can feel Cas nod against his chest.

“I know,” Cas murmurs. “I know he meant well. It’s just embarrassing.”

“Yeah. I get it. You got nothing to be ashamed of, though, but I get it. I hate feeling vulnerable too,” Dean assures him. “And Cas, please try not to worry about me, or what I ‘want from you’ or whatever; all I want is to help you get through this bullshit.” Cas trembles in his arms, and Dean tightens his grip by a degree. “You got me through one of the worst weeks of my life. Let me return the favor.”

“Just so you know,” Cas chokes out, “even though I’m a wreck, and I can’t stop crying, you make me happier than I’ve ever been before.” Dean huffs a sad little laugh. 

“Oh, Cas,” he sighs, kissing Castiel’s unruly hair.

“I’m happy you told Sam,” Cas says softly, “I didn’t know if you’d want to.”

“‘Course I’d wanna tell Sam! Not gonna keep something like this from him,” Dean says reassuringly. “’S not like I’m ashamed of bein’ with you or anything.”

“That means a lot to me, Dean,” Castiel admits.

“I’m not planning on telling my dad, though,” Dean continues, “not ’cause I’m ashamed, just that I know he’ll get piss-drunk, call me a ‘faggot,’ and try to beat the living shit out of me. The longer I can keep him from knowing about us, the better, for both our sakes.” 

“I understand,” Cas says, “believe me.” 

“Dean?” Cas asks after a few minutes of silence, “what happens if your dad comes back here?”

“I dunno,” Dean sighs, “I guess we’ll have to find somewhere else to stay. Maybe somewhere I can take Sammy. Maybe we could get a shithole apartment somewhere. My boss said I could have my job back.”

“I have some money,” Cas says quietly. “I saved almost everything I ever received for Christmas or my birthday, and I’m not proud, but I emptied my mom’s purse after she was passed out on pills my last night at the house.”

“I think you’ll be forgiven that one sin,” Dean smirks.

“You can have it, Dean,” Cas says softly, looking up at Dean with earnest, blue eyes. 

“Cas, I can’t take your money,” Dean says, “but maybe you can help out with food or something if we have to get out of here.”

“Or rent,” Cas says.

“How much money are you talkin’,” Dean asks then with raised eyebrows.

“Ten thousand dollars,” Cas answers.

“Holy shit, Cas!” Dean exclaims, “please tell me you don’t have that all here in cash.”

“Well,” Cas says sheepishly, “I couldn’t put it in my bank account; my parents have access to that.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean swears quietly, “well, we can’t keep that here. My dad would take it for sure if he found out. He doesn’t have any access to my account, though, so we could keep it there if you’re okay with that.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Cas agrees.

“Just so we’re clear, though,” Dean says quickly, “I’m not taking it; it’s still yours, and I’ll give it back to you as soon as you want it.”

“I don’t care about it, Dean; you can use it for anything you need or anything Sam needs. I just want to be able to pay my fair share.”

“Okay,” Dean says at last, “that’s fair.” He smiles and leans in to kiss Castiel gently on the lips. “Just want you to know I’m not interested in you for your money.”

“I know that,” Cas replies, “and that’s good because ten grand is all I’ll ever have of my family’s fortune.”

“Fuck them,” Dean says before returning to Castiel’s lips.

* * *

Eventually, Cas falls asleep, and Dean carefully extricates himself from the bed without waking him. He spends some more time reading about what he discovers is called “antidepressant discontinuation syndrome.” There are lots of big words in most of the articles, but one major takeaway: it really fuckin’ sucks. He decides to call an old friend.

“Hey, Pam?” he says hopefully as he paces the living room, phone to his ear.

“Dean fuckin’ Winchester! Where the hell have you been?” the familiar voice exclaims happily.

“Around,” he answers before changing the subject, “how are you doin’?”

“Can’t complain. Shop’s doin’ good, lots of work lately. Just put the finishing touches on Benny’s sleeve. Haven’t seen your ass in here for a while, though,” she says.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m sorry,” Dean replies before getting to the point. “So, uh, I was hopin’ maybe you’d be able to get a hold of something for me.”

“Yeah?” she asks amusedly. “Like what?”

"It's called _Effexor_."

“What? Isn’t that like an antidepressant or something?”

“Yeah.”

“Dean, sweetie, what’s goin’ on? You okay?” Pamela asks sincerely.

“Yeah, I’m fine; it’s not for me,” Dean answers.

“Oh, well, I don’t think I can get that anyway,” she says. “I don’t think it’s one of the pills with any street value.”

“Shit,” Dean swears, “well, what about something else? Anything for anxiety or whatever?”

“You sure this isn’t for you?” she asks seriously.

“Yeah, it’s... well, it’s a long story, but I got a friend who can’t get his prescription anymore, and the withdrawal is making him real sick. Just wanted to find something to help him,” Dean says, surprised by how tight his throat suddenly feels. Pamela sighs on the other end of the line.

“Well, I got benzos, but they’re some serious shit, Dean. They can really fuck with you if you misuse them,” she explains.

“But, would they help with, like, panic attacks and stuff?” Dean asks hopefully.

“Yeah, that’s what they’re prescribed for. Who’s this friend, anyway?” she replies, and Dean takes a deep breath.

“His name is Cas,” Dean says, trying to keep his voice steady, “he’s my boyfriend.”

“ _Boyfriend?!_ ” Pam snorts, “since when does Dean Winchester dig guys?”

“Since ‘fuck you, Pam!’” Dean bites back.

“Easy, tiger!” she laughs, “you know I’m only kidding! That’s great, Dean. I’m glad you’ve found someone you want to spend more than one night with. Benny’s gonna be crushed, though, when he finds out he had a shot all this time!”

“Benny _never_ had a shot,” Dean deadpans, “but thanks, yeah, Cas is great.”

“Anyway, I can get you Ativan or Xanax,” Pam says, “but they aren’t cheap, and you gotta _promise me_ you won’t fuck with them, and Cas will only take them as directed. I don’t wanna be responsible for you fucking yourself up.”

“That would be great!” Dean exclaims, “and I promise.”

“Alright. Don’t make me regret this.”

“I swear, I won’t,” he promises again, “thank you!”

“Yeah, yeah, hope it helps. You free to drop by the shop tonight after closing?”

“Yes, definitely,” Dean says happily before saying goodby and returning to the bedroom.

* * *

Cas doesn’t look good. He is still asleep when Dean returns, but he is shivering, and sweat shines on his brow. Dean tugs a blanket up over him gently so as not to wake him. Cas remains sleeping, but he moans softly, the sound stabbing at Dean’s chest. He has to admit it scares him some, seeing Castiel like this. Whenever Sammy is sick, Dean always knows what to do, but this? He just feels lost. 

As Castiel begins to toss and turn more violently, Dean isn’t sure whether he should let him continue to sleep or gently shake him awake. Eventually, Dean can’t handle it anymore and decides to wake him, sitting carefully at his side. He places his hand softly on Cas’s shoulder.

“Cas?” he says gently, “angel, wake up.” Immediately, Dean shakes his head at himself, at the nickname that just left his lips; it’s ridiculously stupid, he thinks, but he’ll probably find himself repeating it.

Cas groans, his eyes wide and fearful when they roll up to fix on Dean. 

“Dean,” Castiel gasps. He is beginning to hyperventilate. “Dean, I can’t breathe,” he continues, panicked.

“Shh,” Dean hushes him, gathering Cas into his arms. “Yes, you can, Cas. Breathe with me.” Gently, he rocks Cas back and forth, kissing his hair, holding him firmly to his chest. Gradually, Cas’s breathing slows as he begins to fall in line with the rhythm of Dean’s breaths, his sobs becoming less violent. “You’re gonna be okay, Cas, I promise,” Dean soothes, gazing into the boy’s panic-stricken eyes. 

Once Castiel is breathing at an average pace, Dean excuses himself for a moment, returning with another glass of water, a cool washcloth, and an ACE bandage. He hands the water to Cas with another pain pill, which Cas accepts gratefully. 

“My whole body hurts,” Cas groans softly.

“I’m so sorry, Cas,” Dean says, wiping the sweat tenderly from Castiel’s skin. “Turn around,” he instructs next, “I want to put more stuff on your back. Hoping it’ll heal faster if we keep it clean and moist.” Cas nods. 

“How are you so good at all this?” Cas asks as Dean carefully tends to his wounds.

“Oh, Sammy’s always getting scraped up. I love the kid, but he’s a damn clutz. Probably ’cause his legs are growing like five times too fast,” Dean laughs, and Cas manages a smile. “Speaking of that, I got an old bandage from when he hurt his knee playing soccer. I’d like to try wrapping your ankle up with it.” Cas nods gratefully. “Also, uh, I wanted to make sure your, um, other cuts are okay...” Dean says hesitantly. He can feel Cas tense beneath his fingers. “I know they’re in an awkward area, and I don’t wanna make you do anything you’re not comfortable with; I’m just worried. An infection is really the last thing you need right now with everything else you’re going through.” Dean feels Cas beginning to tremble harder, and he feels awful about it. “I’m sorry, Cas, really. If you’d rather take care of them yourself, I understand; just as long as it’s being taken care of. Trust me, this isn’t exactly how I’d like to get your pants off for the first time,” he attempts to joke, and he actually hears Cas huff a small laugh. Turning Cas to face him, Dean asks, “what do you want? What do you feel okay with?”

“I don’t really feel okay with anything right now,” Cas sniffs, “but I trust you, and it’s not exactly an area I can see well myself.” Dean gives him a sad smile.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Cas nods again, “I am.” Then Dean steps out the retrieve the hydrogen peroxide and give Cas a chance to undress in private. When he returns, Cas is lying on his belly with a sheet pulled up to his waist.

“You ready?” Dean asks.

“Yeah,” Cas replies, his voice sounding frail and far-away. 

Dean uncovers him gingerly, and Cas is thankful that his face is hidden, buried in Dean’s pillow. The tears that have been rolling down his cheeks all morning aren’t about to stop now, with Dean staring at his torn-up ass. 

Dean’s breath catches in his chest at the sight, and he wonders how Cas has been managing to do anything at all besides laying prone in bed, but he doesn’t say anything; he just proceeds to dab peroxide gently across the angry red marks that criss-cross Castiel’s butt and backs of his thighs. Dean curses himself for letting these go untreated, as they now look to be in much worse condition than the marks across Cas’s back, and he decides to cover these with gauze after they are cleaned and treated.

Cas looks so fragile like this, his scarred but otherwise perfect body laid out naked on the sheets. Dean bites his lip as he works, struggling to contain the emotions he feels. He desperately wishes things were different, that he had Cas naked under some other circumstance that would allow them to enjoy it. Dean shoves the thoughts of how badly he wants to touch and kiss Cas _everywhere_ , to the back of his mind, focusing, instead, on the task at hand. 

When he is finished, Dean pulls the sheet back over Cas and reaches for his trembling hand. 

“I hope that starts to feel better soon,” Dean says softly.

“Thank you,” Cas murmurs, finally turning to look up at Dean with tear-filled eyes. 

“Did I hurt you?” Dean asks concernedly, brushing another tear from Cas’s face.

“No,” Cas assures him, “I just can’t stop crying; it’s embarrassing.”

“Oh,” Dean replies, “it’s not your fault. It’s all withdrawal shit, nothin’ you can do about it.” Dean moves up to Cas’s head, carding his fingers through his soft dark hair.

“I guess I probably look pretty unappealing to you now,” Cas murmurs miserably.

“What?” Dean asks incredulously, lying down beside Cas to look him hard in the eyes. “Don’t be crazy,” he says, “you’re perfect. You got scars; so do I. But that ain’t what I see when I look at you.” Dean leans in for a lingering kiss that leaves a shadow of a smile on Cas’s face.

* * *

With the help of the pain killers and Dean’s presence at his side, Cas is able to fall asleep again. By the time he wakes up, it is nearing the time that Dean agreed to meet Pamela at her shop. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, sitting down on the edge of the bed, “I need to run across town real quick.”

“Huh? How come?” Cas murmurs groggily.

“Please don’t judge me, but I got a friend that owns a tattoo shop but is kinda a low-level drug dealer on the side. Anyway, she’s got some stuff that may be able to help you through the next week or two.”

“What?” Cas is clearly confused. “You think I should do drugs?”

“Hah! No,” Dean snorts, “she’s got Ativan; it’s for anxiety and should help you sleep.”

“Oh,” Cas says, looking relieved, “I’ve taken that before. That would really help, I think.”

Awesome! It shouldn’t take too long,” Dean replies happily, “do you wanna stay here or come with me.”

“Come with you,” Cas says quickly, still unable to bear the thought of being left alone for any period of time. He sits up, wincing, on the edge of the bed after pulling on his underwear under cover of the blankets. Dean kneels in front of him then and carefully wraps his ankle before handing him the rest of his clothes. 

“Oh, and Cas, you got that cash? I looked it up, and it sounds like I can only deposit like four thousand at a time, but we should probably do that too. I’ll hide the rest for now.” Cas digs through his backpack and hands Dean a thick stack of bills, mostly hundreds. 

“Holy fuckin’ hell,” Dean says to himself as he thumbs through the cash. “I know this is nothin’ to your family, but I’ve never seen this much cash in one place before,” he continues, and Castiel can’t help but feel a little embarrassed by the fact that he hadn’t thought it was anything special. 

“Dean, you are so much more impressive than anyone in my family,” Castiel says suddenly. Dean wrinkles his nose and shakes his head at the statement.

“I mean, I won’t argue that your family sucks ass, but I don’t know that there’s anything ‘impressive’ about me,” Dean deflects.

“Everything you have, you have because you worked hard for it,” Cas argues sincerely, “you’re one of the only people I know that I can say that about. You and María, and that’s about it. My dad lies for a living, my uncle leeches off him, my mother is a “stay at home mom” that really doesn’t do any of the “mom” part, and my siblings get anything they ask for. Dean, you’re amazing; you do all the adult stuff that my adult siblings don’t do, like work and pay bills, and you’re not even technically an adult.”

“I guess...” Dean sighs doubtfully.

“No, I’m not done,” Cas insists, “you have a kickass car that you bought and fixed up all on your own, but more importantly: Sam has an abusive, drunk piece of shit for a father, but he has you, so he’s still in school, and he has food and clothes and somewhere to sleep, and he may actually be able to have a future. And, Dean, you probably saved my life.”

“Cas,” Dean breathes, swallowing hard and staring at the floor.

“Dean, I don’t know how much longer I would have made it before either my uncle went too far, or I just gave up and... well, you know... I know I haven’t known you that long, but you mean everything to me.” The sincerity in Castiel’s voice threatens to shatter something in Dean’s chest. Quickly, he moves, kneeling in front of where Cas sits on the bed, and pulls Cas into a fierce embrace, kissing him deeply before burying his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck.

“I feel the same ’bout you, angel,” Dean murmurs before rising slowly and helping Cas to his feet. For a moment, Cas stares at him with a goofy grin, not quite sure he heard him right.

Before they leave, Dean divides the cash up, tucking five grand into the inside pocket of his jacket and stashing the rest in the back of his closet where he’d torn up a corner of the carpet. When he presses the carpet back in place, Dean is satisfied that no one can tell anything has been hidden there. 

Once they’re in the car, Dean leans over, kissing Cas and promising once more that everything will be alright. Cas nods, tears still filling his eyes as his body continues to tremble uncontrollably. Gently, Dean pulls Castiel closer to him on the seat. Cas relaxes some, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder and twisting his fingers in Dean’s flannel as Dean backs carefully out of the driveway, _Stairway to Heaven_ playing softly in the background.


End file.
